


The Dreams

by FriendlyFire



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, F/M, M/M, Modern Character in Thedas, Modern Girl in Thedas, Slow Burn, Survival, Tags May Change, Time Travel, Wilderness Survival
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-03-11 10:34:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13522422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FriendlyFire/pseuds/FriendlyFire
Summary: The eternal road is the narrow roadwhere you wait for others to pass you.Why does a trillion-word dream existif it cannot be opened?Calling for the asking knotsin the warm-blooded ropesI lose my seamless robeand the claws of rolling nightmaresslowly fade through the ripened dreamin me.-An excerpt from The Dreams, by Akiane Kramarik





	1. Chapter 1

            Her breath came out in large puffs of nearly opaque clouds. The only parts of her face that were warm were covered by the half face mask and the ski goggles. Anything else that wasn’t was numb by this point. She remained focused, nonetheless; left hand sinks the ski pole in, right foot takes a step, then right follows left and left follows right in that same pattern. Breathe in between each step, exhale upon each. This was a pattern she had down pat.

            She lifted her head from the cycle and saw that she was reaching the crest of the larger part of the mountain. The prospect of the no doubt breath-taking view spurred her to quicken her pace. When the climber neared the top, she pulled up her goggles and exposed her mouth, so she could breathe easier. Piercing blue eyes drank in the view, a gasp was audible enough to hear over the wicked winds ripping across the mountain-side. Majestic evergreen trees stood in enormous quantity across the wilderness. Proudly, their bristles were held aloft with snow delicately veiling them with sparkling crystal white. Over the shrieking winds she could hear them creaking and rustling. The heavy-duty boots on her feet crunched the icy shale rock of the cliff. She watched as the broken pieces rolled down the steep slope.

            “This view is even better than the last,” she spoke to no one, as she was alone in her adventure. She knew it was more dangerous to attempt this kind of expedition by herself, but secretly that’s what made it more exciting for her. Her thirst for thrills and the adrenaline rush that came with them brought her out here in the first place. People had always thought she was crazy, yet she could take the criticism if this was what her reward was. If this was what the risk gave her. This time the young woman was hiking the higher northern Canadian side of the Rocky Mountains. Now, usually people didn’t climb this part of the mountain this late into autumn. The conditions were already pretty iffy, but throw in a constant snow storm climate, you were at odds with mother nature almost constantly.  

 While she had a moment to catch her breath, she pulled the bottle off the snap-hold at her waist and popped the top open with her teeth. She drank heavily from it, before replacing it, and returning her headgear to their proper places. After a few more adjustments and admiration for her current view, she began to carefully tread down the sheer slope of the mountain.

            She’d been hiking for around six hours, and the thrill seeker was feeling it. The sun still had a good few hours of light left, so she decided it might be a good idea to find somewhere to camp. As she came to the bottom of the cliff side, she entered the thick tree line and into the massive forest she’d had a chance to spy earlier. Even through the mask she wore, she could smell the heady scent of pine sap and the rich soil trapped beneath the snow. Inside the denseness of the timberland the relentless flurry she’d been marching through died down. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement. It was large and dark, so her instincts told her to grab for the pistol holstered to her hip. It was easy enough to lift her jacket hem and snap the button that secured it. The gun was raised in the direction of the movement, and finally she saw what it was.

            Off, maybe a hundred yards or so, was a moose. In all its regal, yet terrifying, glory it stood at least four times the height of her. She lowered the gun and re-engaged the safety of the S&W .500. With a sigh she holstered the weapon and watched as it sauntered away from her in the opposite direction she was going. She wasn’t scared of the moose, but she respected it as a wild animal with the capabilities to maim or kill her.

            She had a GPS, a flare gun, and a walkie set to the nearest ranger station in case of an emergency, but otherwise she really was utterly alone. Many had warned her as a woman out in the wilderness by herself it was dangerous. She thought they were worried for nothing. She could take better care of herself out here than she could any day of the week in the “real world”. Instead, she worked as a wilderness expert in part with the rangers. There were fire watch stations out through these parts, and it was her job to check on each of them. If something needed repaired, like a radio or a part of their lodging she took care of it. Or reported if it was something beyond her capabilities.

            The thought, as cliché as it sounds, of working at a desk job for the rest of her life, stuck in some cubicle eight to ten hours a day scared her more than anything out here ever could. Whoever would want to waste there life away being some desk jockey was free to it; but not her. She wanted to take life by the reins and ride out every experience she could get her hands on. This was her idea of obtaining those experiences.

            Most of the stations were in disuse as it wasn’t forest fire season, but there were a few high-risk zones that remained manned year-round. Those who did so, usually traded off every three months in shifts with a different skeleton crew of sorts.

            She was currently whistling a tune as she marched along, and she heard a few Cardinals sing back in response. It brought a smile to her face. That smile was quickly wiped from her face as she heard all sound die down around her. The snow storm had died down to nothing. Hardly, a sound could be heard other than a light breeze here and there. She walked on in silence but had an itching feeling something bad was going to happen.

            Just then, what had once been a caress of a breeze picked up— _and it was ferocious_. It ripped through the trees and carried an enormous onslaught of snow with it. It pelted her now exposed face as she tried to replace her facial protection. Soon enough she was making her way into a brisk jog, trying to keep her balance through the squall to find any kind of shelter.

            After struggling for what felt like hours, but was only around twenty minutes, she stumbles upon a cave. Drawing her revolver, she makes her way to the mouth of the it. Upon entering it was instantly three degrees warmer without the vicious winds. She bent down into a crouching position and continued with her gun raised like she’d been trained. No sign of hibernating bears nesting, or any other large animal tells, so she again turned the safety over to on, and holstered the weapon.

            That was when she noticed a draft in the cavern, and realized it went further on. Everything in her that was any kind of instinct screamed not to find out where it went and to just wait out the storm, so she could get on with her job. And yet… The curious nature she had egged her on _to_ find out where it went. After a short internal battle, her curiosity won out, yet again. Not bothering to redraw her gun, she pressed on further into the nature-made structure.

            As the deeper she went, the darker it became. Right when the mountaineer was about to unpack her flashlight, an eerie green glow started to appear on the dark shale walls. Her vision was compromised with the goggles on, so she yanked them off and ripped away the Velcro of her mask. Stuffing both into either pocket she continued, pushing her hood back, her mouth drew up in concern.

            Her ears started to detect an odd sound under the whooshing noise inside the cavern’s tunnel. It was a crackling, almost like when an ice cube was dropped into a liquid and it splintered, with a high-pitched undertone. That was when she heard the scream.

            “Someone! Help me!” The voice sounded like it belonged to an elderly lady. Was that a French accent? It wasn’t uncommon in these parts. Canada’s second language was French, after all. Yet why would she not just speak French then? Had she already been calling out, and was now so desperate she began calling out in another language in hopes someone—anyone—would understand? Who was out here in the first place? Was it a hiker? Maybe one of the firewatchers?

            These thoughts raced in her mind for no more than second before she launched herself into action. She began running, level-headed and cool, her magnum already drawn and cocked. The noise she’d begun hearing just moments before began to rise in volume. This time she heard another voice, this one distinctly different.

            “What’s going on here?”

            Somebody else was coming to the rescue of the old woman? It sounded echo-y. Now that she thought about it, so had the old woman’s voice. Must be the cave making their voices sound tinny. When she rounded the bend in the tunnel, she found the source of all the commotion. It blinded her at first, so when her eyes adjusted she felt her face grimace in confusion.

            “What the fuck is that?” She spoke to the all but empty chamber of the cave.

            The tunnel had lead into a large opening. Inside was what she could only describe as out of this world. Quite literally. High up near the rocky ceiling was a nearly indescribable mass of amalgamating shards of stone shrouded in an unearthly green glow, just… floating all on its own. It cast mystifying shadows across the walls of the cavity that put her on even further of an edge. Just then it began writhing even faster, swiveling in on its self at blurring speed. A ringing noise started to tear across the space like a banshee’s scream. It caused the woman to fall to her knees and cover her ears, vainly trying to block out the raw sound. The gun clattered to the ground, and with a flashing bang, it went off.

            The next moment hung suspended in the air. Everything happened in slow motion. Yet not like it did in the movies. No, this was different. She couldn’t see everything happening at once, like Hollywood would show it. It was more like she felt it and saw brief parts. A sharp pain lanced through her side. She felt herself being lifted into the air. As she began to rise she felt a burning tear its way through her whole body. The edges of her vision went black, then it went blindingly green. She couldn’t take in oxygen for what felt like years, suspended between what felt like dying and living. All the while she burned with such a ferocious agony that locked her senses so tightly she couldn’t even scream.

            All at once it came to a crescendo like a symphony with no music. Blackness. Endless blackness.

            …

            …

            …

            The young woman jerked awake, her eyes snapping open and her lungs burning for oxygen. She was only able to gulp down three lungsful of air before it all came back. The pain. Her body felt like she had been thrown around like a ragdoll. She couldn’t move. So, she just lies there, trying to focus on breathing. It’s not such a simple endeavor, but she is much too stubborn to die here.

            Minutes pass by just like that. After a while, she’s regained her senses. That’s when she notices the deep throbbing injury in her right hip. Her whole body was wracked in misery, but it all seemed to emanate from there. Her hand moved to feel around for what was the cause, when she felt wetness on her clothing. Trying her damnedest not to exacerbate whatever it was, she rose to a lounging position on her elbow. That was when she spotted the large red stain.

            “Fuck.” Was her simple reaction. She’d never had a bullet wound before. This was gonna suck. Rolling to her good side, she shrugged her free arm through the loop of her heavy hiking pack. Carefully, she follows suit with her other arm. Once off, she unzips a front pouch of the pack and withdraws a first-aid kit. Setting aside her backpack, she sets the kit down and pops the lid.

            With robotic movements she chose the supplies she’d need for this haphazard operation she was about to conduct. Gauze, cotton swabs, long metal tweezers, a small bottle of alcohol, disinfecting spray, stitching wire and the needle, and the bottle of aspirin. She had to keep down the inflammation she was sure to have.

            Her hands shook as she unzipped her jacket. When she noticed this, she balled them into fists and squeezed them as hard as she could. When she released them, they trembled noticeably less. Next, she gingerly shrugged the jacket off, too. She was thankful for the cool head she had after her years of experience, otherwise she didn’t know how she would still be able to remain lucid through such gut-wrenching agony.

            It was cold, she’d lost considerable amounts of blood, and she had to try and remain focused on the task at hand. She knew she was in a cave, though clearly it was not the same she’d entered in. There was a skylight in the top of it that let in light.

            It wasn’t terribly bright, but it’d be enough to work by.

            Her shirt was pulled up just to the hem of her sports bra, and there it was. A good size hole right in the flat expanse where her stomach met her hip. Thankfully, if anatomy served her correctly, it hadn’t hit anything terribly important, and it’d missed the bone. It was all in soft, malleable flesh. Unfortunately, it hadn’t gone all the way through, and went off at an odd angle.

            She was gonna have to dig the fucker out.

            It was a high caliber round, and a weaker person would have just laid there and accepted their fate. She was made of stronger stock. This was nothing.

            With a focus she’d found herself in during similar moments of survival, she picked up the metal tweezers and splashed them with alcohol, so they were sterile. Or as sterile as she could hope. She popped three aspirin and chugged some water to wash them down. Her gaze turned hard as she steeled herself for the hell she was about to endure.

            The angled end of the tweezers plunged into her flesh and she let out a grunt of annoyance. Trying not to widen the hole the bullet had made, she began to follow the path the it had traveled inside her. That was when she felt something solid thunk against the tweezers. Slowly, she opened them up and grabbed onto the foreign object lodged in her body. Mercifully, it was easy enough to grab ahold and pull it out. She cursed all the way through. Once it was out, she dropped the tweezers and watched as the dark crimson pellet fell to the ground harmlessly.

            If she had been hurting before, this was about to be a hundred times worse, she bargained.

            Grimly, the cap was twisted off the alcohol. Holding it over the hole the bullet made she picked up her belt she’d removed and placed it between her teeth. Without waiting, she doused the area with the alcohol and swallowed her screams, taking out her anger on the leather between her teeth. Her vision swam, and sparks flew behind her eyes. She was really feeling the blood loss now, and it wouldn’t help the fact that she’d just taken a known blood thinner, but she had no choice. Thinned blood was easier to deal with than a bad case of inflammation. She wouldn’t be able to walk anywhere then.

            Keeping the belt in her mouth, her breath came in ragged groans. After disinfecting and burning the alcohol off the end of the needle, she threaded it and got to work sewing it shut. She’d had some practice with this in her wilderness training, thankfully, so her sewing job wasn’t too bad. After that was taken care of, she fell back and spit out the belt. She only allowed herself a moment’s rest before packing her things back up and replacing her belt around her waist and coat around her body.

            That was when she finally allowed herself to look around. There was a sturdy looking branch lying near her body on the craggy floor. She reached for it, and after getting into a kneeling position, she used it to help herself stand. Using the stick to hold her weight, she limped towards where the exit of the cave must be.

            When she withdrew from the it, she was momentarily blinded by the sun. Finally, her eyes adjusted. The woman was taken aback by the sight that greeted her. A vast expanse of a valley that transformed into a mountain range looked nothing like the one she’d just been traversing previously. Even more alarming, was the giant fucking hole in the sky that churned in an ill greenish color. It coned off near the bottom in a funnel cloud looking formation.

            “What the fuck is that thing?” She spoke breathlessly. She spent a few minutes just staring at it. She had already been through more than any normal person should be able to handle. This was where it began to become too much.

            She was basically defenseless out here. She’d searched the cave’s floor, but there was no sign of her gun. Of course, she had a hunting knife to defend herself, but in her condition, that was rendered pretty much useless.

            She pulled out her walkie and began to radio in for help, but all she got was static no matter which station she tuned it to. Her GPS came up with an error message, saying her location was unknown. All she could do now was move on and try to find some help. Mustering up all the strength she had left, she began to walk. It wasn’t as painful as it could be thanks to the aspirin, but she was still very woozy from her blood loss. She tried to drink water as much as possible to keep her fluids up. When she ran low, she scooped fresh snow from the ground into it, so by the time she needed more water, it hand melted from her body heat.

            How long she’d been walking was hard to tell. By the digital clock on the walkie, it was supposed to be the middle of the night. Yet through the smoggy veil clinging to the sky, the sun appeared to be beginning its evening descent. Night was coming any way you spun it. Her top priority was finding any human life that would help her.

            …

            …

            …

            She couldn’t have been walking for longer than two hours, but she felt like her body was coming close to falling apart at the seams. Just when she was about to give up, she noticed a trail of footprints. There were dozens of sets. It looked like they were going in one direction. They were nearly invisible from the latest snowfall. Thankfully she knew where to look.

            That was the plan, then. She was going to follow this and hope for the best. If they were campers, then it was possible they’d picked up and left by now. Well, those thoughts didn’t serve her well. She had no other options currently, so along the foot trail she went.

            It didn’t take her long to see it. The smoke stacks and faint glow of a village was just off a mile or two; she’d just made it over a larger part of the mountain, and it’d taken her longer than usual given her current state. It was late now, the sun completely gone. She was grateful she’d found the little village now, or she’d probably had one of the roughest nights of her life.

            With a grunt she mumbles out, “Hope they’re friendly,” before shoving on.

            The traveler was close to the fortress, before she stumbled upon the small hut. It was still a way off from the main walled off part and looked like it was in disuse from the holes in the roof and siding. If they were distrustful of her, she’d come back this way and set up camp. Right now, she needed something to eat, and a warm fire. She had thought about stopping and warming up, but it seemed impractical of her time. Hunting wasn’t an option, as she had no means to do so. She couldn’t even set up a snare.

            Suddenly, she felt the hairs on her neck raise, and could feel the tale tell sign of someone’s eyes on her


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do you know how crazy this is? What you’re saying to me?” She admitted, her voice shaky. “You’re telling me I’m in…” she found it difficult, but finally spat the word out, “Thedas?”

            Slowly, so she didn’t startle them, she turned with a neutral expression to show she wasn’t a threat. When she turned, her eyes met with a peculiar sight. Around ten paces out stood a tall, lean man. He sported an odd ensemble of clothing, especially considering the temperature. Thin green breeches made of what looked like wrappings, an odd tunic sweater top made from fleece and a belt wrapped around his waist loosely. Around his neck was a bobble on a string. After examining it more closely, she realized it was an animal jaw of some kind. More fascinating than alarming, was the fact he was completely bald, except for thin russet brown eye brows, and long pointed ears. They looked too intricate and life-like to be make up. Was it a body mod? She’d heard some people had been doing that to look more elven, which she thought was interesting, but not really for her.

            He pulled it off though, including the bald head—and she’d never really been one for bald men in the past. The stranger made no move to speak and seemed to be just as captivated in her as she was with him.

            Keeping the same theme of slow, calm movements, she raised her hands to pull back her hood, so he could see her face unobscured. Her eyes were bright in the moonlight, appearing to burn like two pinpricks of blue flames in the dark. Her deep brown hair fell in a stringy mess down her right shoulder, and her usually tan face seemed pale. This was due mostly in part to her massive blood loss.

            “My name is Clover,” she started, holding her hands out as if to say, ‘I’m not aggressive’. “Look, I’ve been shot, and could use some help.”

             The man’s face wasn’t very expressive, but she could tell he was alarmed with the news she’d been shot. “Where is the location of your injury?” Though his eyes were already on the blood stain on her coat, he probably wanted to know where exactly.

            “It’s my hip area. Thankfully I was able to clean it up and sew it shut myself, but I could use a second opinion. If you have anyone who's been trained medically that would be great. If not that’s fine, but I could still use a place to stay the night. I’ve… been through a rough day.”

            With that in mind she spoke again before the stranger had a chance to answer, “By the way, not to sound stupid, but what the hell is going on with the sky?”

            If he wasn’t already intrigued by her, now he was mystified. His voice came out sounding disbelieving, “Has no one told you yet? The Conclave has been destroyed. Every mage, Templar, and Chantry member within perished. Including the most Holy. An explosion occurred within the Fade that was so enormous in scale that it tore a fissure in the sky. Even now demons fall from it, and smaller Rifts have been cropping up all over.”

            These words were familiar yet foreign to her. They tickled an old memory from her high school days. Where had she heard this type of talk before. She ignored his next words as she began puzzling over everything that had happened so far. The weird thing in the cave, the feeling of being turned inside out, then waking up inside a different cave on a different mountaintop. The crazy shit in the sky. The weird man with his pointed ears like an elf. Conclave, mage, Templar, Chantry, Fade… What did all this have in common? These weird things seemed simply weird by themselves, but together?

            Her head snapped up to the scrutinizing storm-grey eyes watching her every movement. He’d stopped talking when he realized she was not listening any longer. Instead, he saw the wheels cranking away in her head as she was processing, what to him he thought was anguish or disbelief, but was actually an overload of her sanity.

            “Do you know how crazy this is? What you’re saying to me?” Clover admitted, her voice shaky. “You’re telling me I’m in…” she found it difficult, but finally spat the word out, “Thedas?”

            At this, the elf’s brows scrunched together in clear confusion. This had not been what he’d expected to hear. “Yes,” he agreed, voice revealing none of his thoughts as he watched her.

            “Holy shit,” she swore. The woman’s hands flew up to her head, gripping at her hair. This was fucking insane. This had to be some elaborate LARP camp, or something. He couldn’t break character, or it’d ruin the experience. That was it right?

            _Then how do you explain the sky, or the fact that you literally teleported?_ She heard her inner voice argue. It was right, however. This was really happening. Her brain was frazzled. Why or how this was happening, she didn’t even begin to have an explanation. Nevertheless, here she stood inside the imaginary world of Dragon Age. Some stupid video game that had held her interest in high school, and again later in college when the second one had come out. She’d remembered one of her old friends had mentioned they’d released a third, but she’d been so busy doing everything else but being near electronics that she’d cared very little.

            If memory served her correctly, the second game had ended during a lot of political and civil turmoil between the common folk, mages, the templars, and the religious group—which she was just reminded was the Chantry. “This is going to sound even more odd than my last question, but why were those groups gathered there?”

            “I wouldn’t say odd, as much as I would question if you’d been living out your days under a rock.” He said a bit snarky in his tone. She remained silent, but she felt irritation flare up inside her at his cheekiness. “The mages and templars had gathered to perform peace talks moderated by the Chantry’s Most Holy,” he informed.

            Then that meant that if all those people died, there was probably a lot of mass hysteria and chaos going on across the land from all sides. It was then another question dawned on her, “Where are we exactly?”

            “Haven,” he responded in his articulate, deep voice. “This was the original site of Andraste’s Ashes, in case you were unaware of that, as well,” the elf man offered, a sly smirk on his mouth.

            If she wasn’t seeking out help from him, she’d have just left. She needed him now, so this wasn’t an option. She’d have to put with his lip, for now.

            “Yes, I was aware of that, but I appreciate the refresher,” she made her voice sound level and amiable. She was going to have to play everything close to the chest for now. She didn’t know who she could trust, and she had her doubts it would be this man. She had an eye for people and could tell already that he was the cagy sort. If the way he eyed her up was any indication, the fact that he spoke very little was another red flag.

            Clearing her throat, she decided to ask for help again, since she had derailed the conversation. “Anyway, I’m sorry for getting off topic, but again, I could really use some help.”

            He stood with his hands behind his back, making no movement, except for a slight tilt of his head to indicate thinking. “Unfortunately, it is not my decision to offer you any kind of aid. That is to say, I am not in any position to do so. However, I can certainly bring you to those who can.”

            Clover thought about this for a moment. On the one hand, she was wary to trust this man. He could be lying to her and leading her into a trap. Yet on the other, she was certain that members of the Chantry had set up shop at the old religious site of Haven, if memory served. If that was the case, she probably had little to worry about.

            As he watched the woman debate with herself in her head, he spoke again. “Ah, by the way, I am Solas. How rude of me not to say so earlier,” his voice held a bit of warmth, and a small smile curved his lips, to put the woman at ease. She was clearly anxious and in pain, so he could not fault her for her hesitation. Even if it seemed an odd way to feel after asking him for assistance in the first place.

            “Yeah, alright. That sounds fine. Thanks.”

            Taking one glove off, she reached her hand out to him, asking to shake in greeting. He approached her, and gripped her warm palm with his long, slender fingers. He was surprised with how firm her hand shake was. He was already getting the impression that she was a rather autonomous individual. He could appreciate such an attitude.

            The two parted, and with a gesture of his hand, beckoned her to follow.

            It was a short walk to the gates of Haven. Outside of them were a few rows of tents. Meandering around them and the fires built near them, were what she guessed to be soldiers. They hadn’t noticed her or the elf walking in the dark, and she was thankful of that. Arriving so late into the evening had probably been to her benefit, so there weren’t so many prying eyes.

            Solas pushed open the door with a low creak and held it just wide enough for her to slip past him. He followed her inside and turned to lay it back closed. He kept his questions to himself, but honestly, he was dying to ask her a million things. Why was she wearing such odd apparel? Why had she been so lost at one point, but then so present the next? Almost like she had come to some giant realization. Where had she come from? He had never heard any kind of accent like that, which was almost as odd as her clothing. Her accent had sounded closely to how the Children of Stone did, but there were little things at the end of her words that were very foreign. The lilt to her voice was incredibly unique, like nothing he’d ever encountered before. On top of that, how did she get shot? Rather, _who_ had shot her?

            So many things swirled in his mind, but he knew better than that. She was in obvious distress and seemed long out of her comfort zone. She was decidedly a “fish out of water”, as the expression went.

            She kept close behind him as he led her through the paths of the quaint village. Tiny huts puffing out smoke stacks were strewn about the inside of the walls in clusters. She could see that at the highest point of the hill the village sat on, was what she could only describe as a cathedral. It was made of stone and wood, with giant stain glass window panes. Large wooden doors were set in front standing nearly fifteen feet tall. There seemed to be a little campsite built out front with people loitering around a dying fire. Solas approached the cathedral, or well, she supposed it was a Chantry. He opened the door for as he’d done the gates; just wide enough for her to enter, and he behind her, before gently letting it shut.

            “We are nearly there,” he murmured close to her ear. The way his voice sounded at such a low volume and so close to her ear had sent shivers down her spine. What the hell was that about? Hadn’t he heard of personal space? Different culture, she supposed.

            If he saw her tense he didn’t comment and didn’t wait for her to respond, either.

            The Chantry was nice and warm and dry, much to her delight. There wasn’t a soul within the cavernous main chamber of the religious building, as it really was quite late now. The low-lighting of all the candles cast a dreamy glow about the building, making it really feel like hallowed ground. As they strolled through the building, they neared the back wall where a small door awaited them. From within she could just make out low voices. As they neared, she picked up that the tone of the conversation sounded a bit impassioned.

            Fabulous. She was about to ask a group of people for help, and they just so happened to be in foul moods. Just her luck.

            The young woman was so lost in thought, that she nearly ran into the elf man’s back. Thankfully her quick reflexes saved her the embarrassment. “Solas?” Her voice came out as a breath of a whisper.

            He turned to her and smiled like earlier. She couldn’t tell if it comforted her or made her nervous. It was polite enough, but it also seemed to hold an ocean’s worth of secrets. “You need not worry. They tend to be like this with each other often. They are kind people, so far as I’ve found. I am sure they will help you.”

            His words did help her calm down. How had he known just what to say? Did her face really give that much away? She’d always thought she’d had a good poker face. She gave herself the benefit of the doubt that it had become less tempered due to all the stress she’d gone through. The traveler could feel all the days misadventures piling on her like a thousand bags of sand. Her shoulders drooped visibly, and her hand held her side as it ached every step she took.

            “Even if they should not allow you to stay, I will examine you before you must depart,” he declined his head toward her side. “However, I would be quite surprised if they were to turn you away. As I have said, they are typically charitable.”

            The girl chuckles, “I’m convinced, I’m convinced,” her voice is light with humor. “Even if they don’t let me stay, I’ll figure something out. I’ve slept in poor conditions before. Just being inside for a bit has warmed me up. If I need to rough it, I’ll be fine. It’s just it’ll suck because of the whole bull-, uh I mean, the whole wound in my side.” Shit she’d almost let it slip that she was shot by a bullet. He wouldn’t know what the hell a bullet was, and it’d just confuse him and lead to questions she wasn’t sure she should answer.

            His eyes held a glimmer of curiosity, but he let her stumble slip by easily. “There is no point in waiting, then. We shall see what they say. Shall we?”

            With a nod of her head, he turns and raps his knuckles upon the door. It echoes around the giant chambers and before long a voice can be heard beckoning for them to enter. Solas opens the door and steps inside. She decides to wait until ordered to move. It might be best to let him talk it out with them first, she’s betting.

            It seems it was wise of her to do so, because when Solas rejoins her outside the door he has a small frown tugging at his lips. “They are wary for obvious reasons. They suspect you are a spy, but I’ve tried to reassure them that I have found no reason to believe you are. I’ve taken the liberty to speak on your behalf as such, but they insist you do so yourself. Is this agreeable?”

            “Of course,” she nods, her voice full of understanding. He offers her an approving smile, and places a hand on her shoulder to lead her in. The weight of his palm is surprisingly reassuring.

            As she enters the small chambers, each person within raises their heads to examine this stranger in their midst.

            She instantly recognizes Cassandra and Leliana. They are spitting images of their game counterparts, though obvious much more _real_. Perhaps Cassandra seems a bit more approachable in person, and much more certain of herself. Leliana seems almost skittish, but not alarmingly so. It’s more of a guarded vibe, which makes sense considering she’s supposed to be a bard. There’s also a tall blonde who stands behind the table, more towards the middle of the room. She can’t place it, but he seems very familiar. Lastly, there is an extremely gorgeous woman to the right holding what looks like the primitive version of a clipboard. Her skin is a deep russet color and her dark hair is so shiny it gleams against the candle light.

            “You must be the Clover, Solas has been informing us of,” came the calm, yet stern voice of the blonde man. That was when she recognized him. It was Cullen.


	3. Chapter 3

            This was the young templar from the circle quests, and then later Knight Captain of Kirkwall. He wasn’t wearing his templar uniform, and he seemed to have aged quite a bit since all that had gone on after Kirkwall. Dark bags clung beneath his eyes, and his hair was disheveled giving him a frazzled look. He left the templars then? Surprising. He seemed to be quite at odds with mages. Perhaps after the mage rebellion at the end of Dragon Age 2 he became a bit more enlightened.

            “Nice to meet you. You’re Knight Captain Cullen, right?”

            His head cocked to the side and narrowed his eyes, “I am no longer Knight Captain, nor am I a Templar. I left the life to instead join the Inquisition,” he updated. “Have we met before?” Ah, so she was right. He had left the order.

            Smiling and shaking her head, “I’m afraid I haven’t had the pleasure. It’s only your reputation that precedes you, unfortunately.”

            “I see.” He says simply.

            Leliana finally steps forward, “Forgive me for cutting in, but may I ask? Who are you? Where are you from?”

            Shit. This was where it got hard.

            “Well, for starters, my name is Clover Everett. I’m not from anywhere. I’m from a bit of everywhere I suppose.” She gives a lop-sided grin, trying to come off as friendly. It wasn’t a lie, exactly. More of an omission of the truth. She was an explorer of sorts, and she wasn’t from anywhere. In Thedas, that was.

            Cassandra spoke up next, “So you are a simple nomad, then?”

            She shrugs, “If that label for me suits you, then sure. I usually just explore the wilderness. Sometimes I meet people, and I help them if they need it, and they pay me for it. That’s how I get by. I’m not fond of large cities or crowds. I like being around others fine enough, but I do prefer the peace that comes with living in the forest.” This was pretty much what her job description was, and she did enjoy living life in the wilderness.

            “If I may,” the dark-haired woman begins, “how exactly do you help these people?”

            Her head turns to face her, “Uh, well, I’m pretty handy and I know basic healing,” that was the word for first-aid here, right? “Sometimes people have broken things they need fixed, sometimes they have broken people. I do what I can for them, and they pay me what they can for it.”

            “Very well,” Cullen brings the conversation back around, “now may I ask how you got your injury?”

            Now was the time she had to lie. No way she could say she shot herself. They only had bows, and she had already told Solas she was shot. She couldn’t lie about what kind of injury it was.

            She couldn’t leave them hanging, they would suspect her. Her mind raced millions of thoughts in no more than a couple seconds, until finally, she had her story straight.

            “I was actually attacked.” She tried to be convincing, seeming distressed by this confession to cover up her hesitation.

            Thank goodness, Solas decided it was time to speak up. “She had told me as much when we met outside of Haven. She told me she had been shot.”

            Clover let on a sheepish smile and nodded toward the elf, thankful for the time his response allowed her to think. “Yes, that’s right. I was attacked by a man while I was making my way across the Frostbacks.” How she’d pulled that name out of her ass, she didn’t know. Useless facts about Dragon Age were what she needed most now. Because, as it turns out they aren’t so useless anymore.

            “Did you get a good look at him?” Cassandra asked, her tone fraught with outrage at the thought of an innocent being mugged. She almost felt bad for lying to her.

            Grimly, she frowns, Clover’s face downcast now. “I’m terribly sorry, but no. I only know it was a man from the voice. He must have seen me coming down one of the mountain’s slopes and hid at the bottom to jump me. I didn’t see the arrow coming at all. All I knew was I was hurt, and I could hear someone running up on me. That was when I was flipped over with a knife put to my throat and told not to move. He stole my gold, my bow, and all my food.”

            “And he let you live? Let you keep the rest of your belongings? Why did he leave you with your pack?” Leliana’s voice sounded unconvinced.

            “Honestly, I think he didn’t think the effort of finishing me off was worth it. He just left me in the snow to bleed out slowly, I guess. He probably thought I was the type to give up.” Her voice sounded believably bitter. “As far as why he didn’t take everything, I can’t answer, as I am not a mind reader, nor an expert on crazy people’s thought process.” She stated resolutely.

            “How did you manage to live, then? Might I also comment on how odd your sense of fashion is? I’ve never seen clothing quite so… unusual,” the redhead finished, obstinately remaining unconvinced.

            Her expression didn’t waver, and she simply repeated her earlier statement. “As I’ve said, I’m experienced in the simpler ways of healing. As for my clothes, I met a couple of traders who specialized in traveling gear. I had some extra gold and needed new clothing, and they seemed to be desperate for a sale. They’d been travelling through Ferelden and were based out of Tevinter.” She shrugs and cracks a smile, “I’m sure you can guess why they had a hard time selling anything. Could you honestly see anyone from Ferelden sporting this ensemble of mine?”

            The raven-haired lady chuckles, “I am more than sure they went bankrupt. You were quite possibly their only sale. Although I must say, before bleeding all over it, the—coat? —you wear seems like it could have been quite fashionable. That shade of green is most becoming.”

            When the young woman starts to laugh along with her, she groans out at her protesting side. The pain is so bad, that she doubles over. Solas is right next to her, then. With a guiding hand, he moves to help support her weight.

            “As you can see, she is in dire need of proper healing. She is quite fortunate she was able to keep herself from bleeding out, as it is. Might you make your decision, now?” The elf’s words are firm, but his voice remains forever composed.

            Cullen sighs, “I think she is of no danger, personally. What say you, Josephine?”

            The addressed woman speaks, “I quite agree.”

            Cassandra grunts, and chimes in a, “Very well.”

            Leliana is the last to speak. Her expression toys with a cynical smirk, her eyes nearly slits. “She may stay then, but she will be watched. Solas, since you seem to be so concerned for her well-being, I expect you will watch over her until we can deem her trustworthy.”

            “So be it,” he pronounces.

            “Where shall she stay?” Josephine queries.

            Again, Solas speaks, “For tonight she can stay with me until further arrangements are made. I think that should put you at ease, Leliana, and will allow me to observe her condition.”

            If anyone disagrees, they don’t make it known. Instead, Josephine informs her that she will arrange her housing.

            “Uh, if you don’t mind, I saw a hut on the outskirts of the village. It seems to be in disuse. If you’d let me, I could fix it up. Also, I don’t expect this for free, obviously. So, again if it’s alright, I can help with the upkeep of this place. I’m good with my hands.” She repeats.

            They all look at each other before Cullen turns to her. “This might be acceptable arrangements. Let us discuss it a bit, and we should have a consensus by tomorrow morning. Until then, please get something to eat and some rest.”

            “I really appreciate it. Thanks. Goodnight.”

            Cullen echoes her farewell, and Josephine bids her a kind, if formal, good night. Cassandra and Leliana remain quiet. Though it is obviously for different reasons.

            She feels a tugging on her arm and begins to be led out of the room with Solas. His arm is wrapped around so he supports her from her good side. As the door of the conference room shuts, he grabs her right hand as she stumbles on the flagstones.

            “Steady there.” His voice warns quietly.

            Why was he being so nice? She didn’t know him. They were strangers, and he owed her nothing. It felt weird for him to be going to such lengths.

            “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but why are you helping me so readily?” She asks before she can stop herself.

            He started up a leisurely pace for them to walk at, before answering her. “Simply put, I enjoy helping people when I can. From what I gathered, you seem to be of an agreeable mindset?”

             “I think my situation is a bit different, as people pay me for my services.”

            He hums in thought, and in doing it so close to her ear again, it sends a buzzing sensation through her body.

            There it was again! This was getting awkward now. She didn’t have a chance to ponder it much, as he spoke again. “I would not say I am not getting paid for my services. Are you not planning on aiding the Inquisition in maintaining its fortress? If so, will I not benefit from that conservation? I do, after all, live within the walls of Haven.”

            Inquisition? Was that what they were calling themselves? She really needed to learn more about what the current politics were in Thedas. She was, after all, set in a time after the events of the second game had already been finished for a while. She was sure some things had escalated since then, if the Conclave incident was any indicator. With how desperate things had gotten with the mages and how on edge the templars had become because of it, things were probably chaotic and volatile. Knight Commander Meredith had made it all the worse. On top of what that idiot Anders had done. She got that he was tired of dealing with shit circumstances, but there was never an excuse for murder. That was what it had been. The slaughter of innocents. Sure, there might have been some assholes present, but what of the civilians? If anything, Anders had just negatively impacted the common person’s opinion of mages, which was already shit to begin with.

            Solas noted that she had gotten quiet and decided it best to leave her to her thoughts. She most likely had much to continue processing. Eventually, they made it to his cabin, and after opening the door for her, he leads her inside and had her sit on the chair by his desk.

            Standing before her, he notifies her that he requires she remove her upper clothing so that he may get at her wound. She doesn’t shy from his request, and easily removes her layers. The pack she carries is set to the left of her on the ground. Her coat is removed and thrown to the ground, as well, along with her shirt, and the tank top beneath that. She sits in just her jeans and sports bra now, a spattering of dried, flaking blood spread across her stomach. Her life lived in the wilderness was apparent to the elf. Her stomach was defined and her frame lean. Even relaxed now he could see the power underneath her skin in coiling muscle. Solas also notes a tattoo on her left hip. _How droll, it is of a wolf,_ he muses in his head. It was a geometric line art of a wolf’s head, with a crescent moon hanging over it. He wanted to question her on it.

            However, now was not the time. What he was more interested in was how well her wound seemed. He had a hard time believing her skill with healing was so basic. There was no swelling, and the means with which she closed her wound he’d only seen rarely. Most of the other none-mage healers across Thedas just left wounds to close themselves up. She, however, has sewn it up and even kept it clean. Another oddity amongst common healers. Most others seemed not to see the point in keeping injuries clean, as it wasted resources. Another unfortunate thing forgotten to the years.

            He had an even harder time believing she was just a simple traveler. But he supposed she had her reasons for keeping a low-profile. Something he understood well. Leliana was already suspicious of him. He supposed that if her attention was currently distracted on this woman, that could only be to his advantage.

            “This is exceptionally well taken care of,” Solas exclaims.

            She fidgets, “Oh? You think so?” It wasn’t a large fidget. In fact, it was hardly noticeable. But he saw it. And if she wasn’t careful, Leliana would eventually see it, too. However, she’d pulled off that story in the war room was a mystery. He easily saw the potholes in it but had remained silent. The others were a bit more lenient than either he or the Nightingale was. They tried to see the good in others. Whereas he chose to see the more realistic side of people. The parts that nobody wanted them to see. The parts they were ashamed of.

            The elf couldn’t place any of hers yet, but he’d figure it out eventually. As was always the case. It was an eventuality.

            “It seems I need not perform any surgery tonight. Instead, I’ll simply aid your natural healing process.” He was knelt on one knee examining her torso. Raising his hands to the area her wound was, they began to glow a pale blue along with the offending area.

            The feeling was instantaneous. She felt like she was being filled with sunlight. The blue mist surrounding her lapped at her skin like warm water in a bath would. The woman let out a moan of alleviation as the pain seemed to melt away, draping herself over the chair’s back rest in relief. Once the healing spell subsided, all she could feel was a dull throbbing coming from the injury.

            “How does that feel now?” Solas asked clinically.

            “So, so, so much better,” she breathed. “Wow. That was amazing. I’ve never been healed with magic before.”

            He smiled at how innocent she sounded. “Well, I’m pleased to have given you a good impression.”

            “Between you and me, I’ve never really been in close contact with magic at all,” she murmured conspiratorially.

            His eyebrows rose, “Truly?” Already she was trusting him enough to reveal a secret. This would perhaps not be as entertaining as he first thought.

            She nodded, “I’m being sincere. I knew magic was remarkable, but I never thought it would be so…” She trailed off, head shaking at a loss for words. Her expression displayed how truly amazed she was.

            …Perhaps he was getting ahead of himself to believe she was so one-dimensional.

            “I would advise you keep this opinion to yourself. As much as I am pleased with it, as I am sure any mage would be, I do not think others would be so supportive.”

            That was when it hit her, “That’s right. Forgive me, I really must have lost touch with reality out in those woods. I forget so quickly that many would see mages chained like beasts for something they have no control over. Pardon my thoughtlessness.” Her face scrunched up in shame.

            Solas shook his head and offered her the first genuine smile she’d seen from him. It spread across his whole face, even showing the pearly white teeth beneath his lips. “You have no reason to apologize. I am simply encouraged that there are those who even have such free-thinking views in today’s social climate. Thank you.”

            She sat up straight, waving her hands in front of her, “No, no! Thank you! I’m very grateful for all your patience and help today. I have to play a lot of catch up on current events. To be honest with you, I haven’t even heard about the Inquisition yet. I don’t know why that’s so crucial or what their intention is as an organization.” Her voice sounded exhausted by it all.

            Her candidness surprised him, yet again. In truth, it surprised her, as well. For some reason, through all the red flags that he rose in the beginning of their encounter, she felt she could trust this man. At least with this type of thing. He seemed like the patient type that was good at teaching.

            “I have some free time tomorrow evening. Perhaps then we can meet, and I can fill you in on all you have missed?” He offers.

            “I would be perpetually grateful if you could,” she said graciously.

            With a nod, he rose to his feet, and walked over to a chest of draws near what seemed to be the sleeping area of his room. Pulling open a drawer, he digs around searching for something. After retrieving what he was looking for, he returns to her. Handing what he’d brought over to her, she sees that it’s a large smock style shirt made of linen. “I’ll give you some privacy to change, and a moment to yourself while I fetch your supper.” Without giving her a moment to respond, he left her alone.

            She stood and walked over to the bedroom area. It seemed more secluded and allowed her to be out of sight of any windows. She leaned against the wall and tried to gather her wits. A weaker person might be hyperventilating now. Or losing their shit. Maybe even breaking down into a puddle of tears on the floor. Not her. Not Clover Everett. She was made of stronger stock than that. She could get through anything, so long as she was determined.

            Quickly, she rid herself of her jeans, and shrugged the smock over her head. It fell to just past her knees. Thankfully Solas seemed to be on the taller side for an elf, so it fit her. She was, blessedly in this case, short anyway.

            She was just finishing folding her old clothes and setting them with her pack against the wall next to Solas’ chest of drawers, when he returned. He carried a covered tray with both hands over to his desk. On a free area, he set down the tray, and uncovered to show what was beneath the shroud. A steamy bowl of what looked like stew, a hunk of bread, and a pitcher of water along with a mug. Her stomach growled loudly at the sight of it and she laughed it off.

            “I’d been hiking all day and had nothing to eat, unfortunately. After I’d been attacked, I had no means to hunt anymore, and no time for a snare to be worthwhile.” She conceded.

            “It is unfortunate of what happened to you, and that the one who did such a cruel thing goes unpunished for it,” he replies.

            She shrugs, “Worse has happened to better people for less.”

            The elf hums. “Perhaps, but such cynicism as that will serve no one,” he reasons. “Now, please, sit down and eat. It has grown late. While you do so, I will set up my bedroll.”

            Right as she was about to take her first bite, she did a double take. “Pardon?” Her voice sounded concerned.

            “Do not make such a fuss. You are injured, and I have slept in worse conditions,” he echoed her previous sentiment in the Chantry.

            “Yes, but you’ve already done so much,” she starts.

            Solas cuts her off, “It is only for one night. I insist. Need I remind you, you are my convalescent?” He leaves no room for argument, and something in his tone commanded her to listen. Just as he had his suspicions she was no simple traveler, she had hers that he was no simple elven apostate.

            She ate quietly while he set up his place on the floor. The stew was actually pretty good. There were big chunks of meat that she thought tasted like elk. Carrots and an unfamiliar root floated along with them in the thick brown broth. The bread was a bit stale, but this was unsurprising considering dinner had most likely long since passed. Downing her whole mug of water, she quickly poured another from the pitcher and drank another half of it. Her body was feeling dehydrated. No doubt from all the fluid she’d lost that day. Before she’d reached Haven, she had taken a chance to pee. Her urine had looked dark, which wasn’t a good sign. Even though she had been drinking constantly.

            She recovered the tray of her dishes and wandered over to the bedroom area, carrying her mug of water. When she reached the bed, she sat on it. It was a bit lumpy and not the comfiest thing, but the blankets were soft and felt warm. Solas had gone over to stand by her while she ate so he could write something down and he still remained there now.

            Letting out an exhausted yawn, she was falling asleep just sitting there. Her body was close to forcing itself to shut off, at this point. She couldn’t even string along a coherent thought. Her stomach was full, Solas’ cabin was toasty and smelled like the various herbs growing in the planter by the window, making it homey. The bed was really singing her name now.

            She crawled under the covers and began to turn in for the night. Solas noticed and finished up what he was doing at his table. As he did so, he began to blow out all the candles as he came nearer to the bed where he’d set up his bedroll. There was one final candle on the bedside table where she’d placed her now empty mug.

            Before he blew out the candle, her words slurred as she called out to him. “I’m mighty grateful of y’all. Anytime y’all need somethin’ fixed don’t be a stranger. I reckon I can take care ah anythin’ y’all need.” She really was tired for her accent to be this thick. It usually did this when she was drunk or pissed off. Otherwise, she’d long since grown out of the habit. She’d been born and raised for the first half of her life in Texas. But the summer she turned fourteen, her mom and dad got divorced, so she and mom packed up and moved in with her grandparents in Oregon. There, her accent had diminished a fair bit, though it was still obvious she was from the south. Of course, if you were from _her_ world.

            Here, it probably sounded seriously bizarre.

            And it did.

            Solas was taken aback, never having heard any kind of accent like that. It further added to the mysterious air surrounding this odd woman. He chided himself for judging her so preemptively. He was beginning to think she would make an interesting puzzle to keep him amused during moments of idle time.

            He didn’t even get a chance to respond, before he heard her gentle snoring. He watched her for a short while, searching for any clues in her sleeping face. Her lashes spread like fans upon full smooth cheeks. She had a small upturned button nose, and a single freckle rested on the left side of her upper lip; her lips were full and pouting. All these features were elegantly set upon her heart-shaped face, giving her an innocent look.

            For someone who supposedly lived such a rough life as a traveler, she was astonishingly free of any scars. When he’d held her hand earlier, he’d felt none of the common callouses of someone who was a bow wielder. How interesting.

            Withdrawing from her sleeping form, he blows out the final candle and pitches the hut into darkness. Solas tucks into his sleeping bag, and easily rids his mind of all thought as he’d become so practiced in doing, before falling to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

            The brunette jerks awake with a gasp. It makes the, now mostly healed, wound at her side pinch in pain a bit. It is nowhere near as intense as it’d been yesterday. Yesterday… That was when memories of all that had occurred in the past twenty-four hours came flooding back. She fell against the foreign bed with a grunt and a thud. She lay there, trying to orient herself. Solas was nowhere to be seen, having probably had things to attend to. Looking over to the side table she spies a folded note next to a tidy pile of what looked like clothing. She also notices a mug of fresh water and quickly attacks the thing, guzzling it down. She’d never been so thirsty in her life. Whatever had happened to her in that weird teleporting thing had taken more out of her than she thought, along with the bullet wound.

            She rose and tested her weight, swaying back and forth on the balls of her feet. Her pain was inconsequential, and she would barely register it today. After that, she delicately lifts the note, and unfolds it. The script blurs in front of her eyes for a moment, before finally settling again. She finds this odd but brushes it off as her head being foggy from sleep. Solas’ handwriting is beautiful and flowing. What was he writing? Poetry?

            With a snort, she goes about reading it. It alludes to the whereabouts of both the tavern where she can obtain food, as well as to a pouch of money on the table. She looks away from the note to find it and realizes that it rests on the other side of the clothing. He informs her that it is not much but should be able to afford her some sustenance. Wow, that was so nice. Reading on, he also gives directions to the woman in charge of the Inquisition’s assets, Lady Josephine Montilyet. Finally, he tells her to change into the clothing left on the table and apologizes again if they are an awkward fit, as they were collected on short notice. She was just grateful for fresh clothing, awkward fit and all.

            The elf signs off with a simple signature. She sets it aside and goes about getting dressed. She removes the smock shirt that Solas had let her borrow, folding it and placing on top of his chest of drawers. Her new outfit was a long, thick tunic style shirt in a deep blue color. The material felt like spun wool and came down to her mid-thigh. There were slits going up either side to her waist, allowing her legs to move freely. There was also a thin linen undershirt, to offer a bit of insulation. Leggings made of dense black leather fit to her legs well. They had an odd design of swirling lines embedded into the leather on the tops of her thighs. A belt around her waistline kept the tunic from looking like a sack on her. Lastly, thick socks and tall hide boots in a seal brown; these were the only article of clothing that did not fit her well. They were most likely meant for men, being a bit too big in the toe but were okay around her calves. She was thankful for the muscle she had to assist in filling them out.

            Vainly, she tried to comb through the chaotic mop that her hair was. All the sweat and snow and wind had it looking a mess. She got it to an acceptable level of tidiness before she debated on taking her pack and things. Deciding it best to try and blend in, she would come back for her things later when she planned on speaking with Solas again.

            Clover found her way to the tavern by remembering Solas’ directions, since it appeared to be pretty straight off from his hut. The village had come alive, people bustled about, all busy with their tasks and jobs. She couldn’t believe how real it all felt. This was supposed to be a video game, and yet it was all so tangible. That was when a thought hit her. How was she going to get home? She didn’t even know where to begin on that front. She supposed to go back how she came in. That didn’t really seem like such a good option, considering demons were supposed to be spitting from those things like crazy. Why had the rift she’d gone in through not had any?

            Maybe because those kinds of things didn’t exist in her world? But then why did a rift exist but demons or spirits didn’t?

            She rid herself of these thought, having made it to the tavern. The survivalist saw a sign hanging off from the building in traditional fantasy world fashion. Her vision blurred as it had done previously in Solas’ quarters. Then just like that, she could clearly read the stylized words indicating the name of the tavern. _The Singing Maiden_ , it read.

            Pushing open the door, she found it dead inside, except for a couple soldiers at the bar on the back wall, a blonde elf standing off near the door, and a minstrel plucking away at her lute. She began to head towards the bar when the elf girl called out to her. “Oi, who’s this then? Haven’t seen you ‘round before. Woulda noticed you, all pretty and blue eyes.”

            She started at being shouted at, and the soldiers near the bar quieted down upon this encounter, watching to see what was happening. “Uh, hi. I’m Clover. Nice to meet you…?” She drifted off in question.

            “Ya can call me anything that tickles your fancy,” her voice was thick with vulgarity, “and I’d say it was much more than nice to meet you,” The blonde elf toyed.

            Was… was she flirting with her? She felt her face scrunch up with bewilderment and chuckled apprehensively. “Well, I better get goin’. See ya later?” Just as she said this the tavern door opened again. She didn’t bother to look up, too freaked out by what was happening. It wasn’t like she was disinterested in women; more that this one was so forward. The elf’s direct attitude threw her off and made her feel awkward.

            She eyed her up and down, “Be a cryin’ shame if we didn’t?” Clover also disliked the way she was being treated as an object.

            “Now listen here—” she began with irritation clear in her tone.

            Right as she was about to begin protesting her treatment, the words died in her throat as a booming voice called out, “Sera, who’ve you harassed this time? Didn’t your mother teach you to mind your manners?”

            “Bugger off. I was just enjoying the view,” she winked at Clover with a lascivious look in her eyes. Clearly not bothered by her anger the elf added, “This one’s fiery,” before shuddering in a strange delight. Clover’s brows furrowed with a mixture of stagger and repugnance.

            She turned to the newcomer’s direction and saw a man approaching her. He looked to be in about his early twenties and was at least a good foot and half taller than she was. His auburn hair was in a tidy coif, the sides shaved close. That was when she noticed the staff on his back.

            “Ah, I don’t think we’ve met yet. My name is Leon Trevelyan. Don’t mind Sera, she’s harmless,” he held his hand out, hazel-green eyes crinkling with the warm smile on his face.

            Clover schooled her face to rid herself of the goosebumps that had risen on her arms. She took his palm in hers and squeezed in her customary way, giving his hand a few strong shakes.

            “My name is Clover Everett,” she introduced herself.

            “Firm handshake you’ve got there. Have you eaten yet, Clover?” When she said she hadn’t he gestured towards a table, “Shall we break or morning fast together, then?”

            If it meant getting the hell away from this weirdo she would walk over flames. She nods and follows, not even looking in the elf’s direction. Though she does hear a faint, “ _Woof_ …” as she goes. She takes a seat across from Leon at one of the tables. Just as they were getting settled and chatting more pleasantly, a woman arrives at their table and introduces herself as Flissa. She sweetly greets Clover and tells her that she is the person who runs the tavern. Flissa brought along a tray of food and begins to plate their table: two bowls of some sort of porridge with a side of grapes, and a couple cups of water.

            They ate, and she told him of how she had ended up at Haven and her conversation with both Solas and the advisors. Leon was sympathetic of her ordeal and made it known to her that they would try and find justice for her.

            “I appreciate the thought, but I wouldn’t waste your time and resources on me,” Clover tried mollifying his worries. “Besides, I find it awfully doubtful that you’d be able to catch whoever it was. As I said, I didn’t see him, and it’s not an efficient use of your time to search for someone with only a weak description of a voice.”

            Leon sat back in his chair, leaning it back on two legs, a frown on his face. “I understand, but I feel I must do something. Didn’t you say you lost your bow? Perhaps we could at least keep an eye out for anyone who has one matching its description?”

            Clover shrugged, getting nervous and a bit irritated at his badgering. She understood he meant well, and he seemed very compassionate, but he was much too insistent. Hadn’t she told him it was fine? “Please, Leon. Let it go. The bow was cheap and shoddy anyhow. Don’t worry about it, alright? There are more bows out there. I held no sentimental value for it, I promise.” She fabricates on the fly.

            With a sigh, the redhead nods. His voice sounds dissatisfied, “Very well. I will press the issue no longer. However, if you should ever need anything, do not hesitate to seek me out, yes?”

            “Sure thing, kiddo. I appreciate it,” she offers him a genuine smile.

            One of his thin eyebrows raise, “Kiddo? And just how old do you think I am for you to be calling me that?” His voice held a tone of teasing.

            Laughing, she shrugs, “Twenty-two?” She guesses.

            His eyes widen with a mirroring laugh, “Close. I just turned twenty-three this past summer.” Leon then gave her a curious look, “Forgive my boorishness, but how old would our Lady Everett be?”

            “Don’t worry ‘bout it, I’m not easily offended,” she assures. “I’m twenty-six.”

            He resumes a playful voice, “My you’re practically the crypt-keeper!”

            “Don’t press your luck, smart-aleck,” she giggles.

            The two chat a bit more, before Leon must depart. She echoes that she must be elsewhere, too. Before they part they agree to meet for their morning meal whenever their schedules align. Clover was excited at the prospect of making a friend. As she passes by Sera on her way out, the blonde gives her a little purr and rolls her hand like a paw. She ignores it and instead tries to let it slip from memory the encounter all together.

            Heading to the Chantry, she sees that it is now crowded with different collections of both clergy and townsfolk.  It’s easy enough to find Josephine’s office. Clover knocks on the door and waits respectfully to be summoned. Once she hears a faint voice call, she opens the door and is greeted by the sight of the Lady Montilyet sitting at a large desk. The thing is positively infested with all varying types of parchments and papers, books and tomes, and various other ledgers.

            “Ah, good morning Lady Everett. How has your injury progressed?” Josephine speaks first.

            Clover grabs her side, “Oh, it’s good, thank you. Solas healed it with a pinch of magic, though he said it seemed to be treated fine enough on its own.”

            “I am pleased to hear it. This leads me to move on to what we spoke about the previous night,” she begins. “We have decided to allow you to repair and live within the cabin outside of Haven’s walls. In exchange we would ask that you assist the lead healer. We are not in as desperate need of laborers as we are for those capable in remedial services. From what Solas has informed me aligns with what you have said; indicating you are more than capable. Solas lends his skills when they are paramount, of course, but he is also required for more pressing issues. The home that you are renovating was once the property of the previous lead healer, but they unfortunately passed at the Conclave. Adan, their replacement, has requested that you search the house for any notes that he might have left behind. Are these conditions agreeable, Lady Everett?”

            Clover was reeling from the info-dumb, but quickly nodded, “Yes, of course. I can’t promise I’ll be useful for anythin’ major, but I’ll do my best. I also appreciate lettin’ me fix up the old place, I’ll be sure to bring whatever I find—to Adan, was it?”

            Lady Montilyet nods, “Indeed. His location is actually right next door to Solas’ cabin. Bring anything you might find there. Here,” she lifts a string with a key hanging from it, “this is the key to the cabin. Now if there is nothing else…?”

            The brunette approaches Josephine’s desk and grabs it, before saying, “I don’t mean to be a bother, but I’m not sure how to go about repairin’ the cabin without tools or materials. Is there any way I can get ahold those?”

            “You needn’t worry about that. I have already requisitioned plenty of materials and all the tools you should require. You may keep the tools, as I am sure you will require them again. I have also taken the liberty to order you some extra clothing and necessities, as well as a mattress and bedding. They should be brought by later today.”

            This shocked her. “Oh, wow. I don’t know what to say. Thank you so much. I feel so bad that you’re wastin’ all this on me.”

            Josephine chuckles lightly, “Please, it was a simple thing. Besides, I was tired of looking at the decrepit old building. It was an eyesore and it’s time it was put back into good condition. We do, after all, have a precedent to establish. We cannot have nobility exposed to Haven in such a state of disrepair. You’re doing me a greater service than a bit of lumber and tools could ever be.” Her smile was brilliant. “I should also point out that you will be aiding the Inquisition in keeping its residents and soldiers alive and well.”

            “I’ll get started right away then,” Clover declares. After thanking Lady Montilyet again she makes her way through Haven towards the gates. Before she gets to the stairs that leads to them, she hears someone calling out.

            “Hey, you in the blue!”

            She swiveled and sought out the source of the voice. When she couldn’t figure out where it was coming from, she heard another, “Hey!”

            Angling her head down a couple inches, she sees who it is. Hanging out near the other camp at the front of the village was a dwarf in a textured red satin shirt. It had a split down the front of it held loosely together by ties, allowing the luxurious chest hair he was famous for to be put on display. His nose looked like it’d been broken a few times and set wrong each of them. A fresh bruise was setting around his nose, and another around the right of his downturned eyes. His hair was pulled back in a short, messy ponytail of sandy blonde.

            “Oh hey! You’re Varric, right?” She said in realization, approaching the dwarf with a grin.

            The man in question bent in a flourishing bow, “The one and only.” Standing up straight, he eyed her in interest, “Am I amid yet another admiring fan? Which of my books is it? Swords and Shields, or The Champion of Kirkwall?”

            “Hah, I’d say the Champion of Kirkwall, definitely.” She allowed. “Name’s Clover,” she says before muttering and looking up to the sky, “ _I feel like this is becoming a trend now._ ”

            “Better get used to it, newcomer. People are curious about you already. And when people are curious they start to talk.” He says cryptically.

            “Oh? And what might those gossips be gabbin’ about this time,” she asked good-naturedly.

            “Oh, you know. This and that. Mostly about how you were seen rubbing shoulders with the Herald of Andraste.” He looked at her like this title was supposed to mean something important.

            Shaking her head, she replies, “I’m not sure about anyone by that title. Though, I did have breakfast with a sweet guy by the name of Leon. Name ring any bells?”

            The smile that broke out on his face was one of pure delight, “Are you telling me you don’t know who the Herald of Andraste is?” He sounded amazed.

            Again, she shook her head, “I’m sure sorry, but no I don’t.”

            He whistled, “Damn, Chuckles was right, you are out of the loop.”

            Another name she didn’t know. When he saw her confusion he waved it off, “Just a little nickname I gave our resident elven apostate.”

            Realization dawned on her, “Oh, you mean Solas. I understand now. That’s so cute,” she adds.

            Varric roars with laughter. He bends over, slapping his knee. Clover watches his loud display with amusement. The dwarf practically shouts, “I can’t wait to break the news to Chuckles!”

            “I hope you know that if you mention it was me who said it, I’ll deny it to my dying breath. Then I’ll spread a nasty rumor that your feet stink or that you steal people’s underwear,” she teases.

            He laughs loudly again, “You know what, I think that’s a risk I’m willing to take. Who knows, they probably do stink.” His voice becomes more level at the end, ignoring the second part of the threat involving underwear.

            “It worries me that you ignored the underwear bit.” She asserts humorously. Varric simply gives her an enigmatic smile, egging her on. She brings the conversation to a close by saying, “I’m sorry to cut this short, but I better get going. I have a lot to get done today.” She looks up at the suns place in the sky and realizes its already late into the morning.

            “Don’t sweat it,” he waves her off pleasantly.

            She finally makes it to the cabin, and to her delight there is abundant building materials in front. Making haste, she rolls up the long sleeves of her tunic and gets to work.

            When she enters the building, the whole place is covered in grime and cobwebs. It’s not very big, but she doesn’t mind. Upon first walking in, there is a table against the back wall. From here she can spy what appears to be the notes Adan wanted. To the left of that, towards the center of the home, is a fireplace. She heads over there first and begins to start a fire so that the frigid air of the cabin can begin to heat up. In short time, there is a nice little fire crackling away within. She gets up off her knees and turns to take in the rest of the place. A small bed frame lies in the farthest left corner, and against the wall across from it is a dresser. A wall sticks out a short way from where the fireplace is, before it breaks to allow entrance to the bedroom area, then it starts again blocking off the rest. From the entrance to the right is a table that held empty pots that probably housed herbs originally.

            Her next goal was to scrub every inch of the place. She finds a pail near the hearth with a few rags inside. They don’t look the cleanest, but she was sure she could wash most of the dirt out in the river. Which is where she headed, carrying the bucket and rags along. She filled the bucket, washing the rags as quickly as possible so her hands wouldn’t freeze. A brief walk back to the cabin, and she got to work cleaning as much of the gunk from the walls, floors, and surfaces as she could. She had to jerry-rig a broom with a rag to clean the ceiling. She got what she could, but quickly gave up. Lastly, she got to repairing the holes in the walls and ceiling.

            Clover was nailing in the final plank of the roof when she spies a mousy elf, and a couple humans that hauled something, coming her way. She’d rid herself of her tunic, only wearing her under shirt. Sitting up on her knees, she wipes the sweat from her brow and watches them until they get close enough for conversation.

            “Hey there! Can I help y’all with anything?” She hollers in question.

            The elf girl reaches talking distance, before speaking, “My lady, we’ve brought the items Lady Montilyet requested on your behalf.”

            She noticed that the large thing that the other servants were carrying was a mattress.

            “Oh, thank you so much! I’ll be right on down!” She descends the ladder that helped her get to the roof with care. Once on the ground again, she approaches the group. “Here, let’s get that bed in the frame,” she made her way to the door. She held it open for them to get inside, “Come on in, folks.”

            They listened dutifully, following her directions to where they could set it up. The elf girl was carrying a crate, so when Clover asked her for a hand with the old mattress, she set it down by the front door. The two got the old mattress off the bedframe—Clover doing most of the lifting—and the help set the new one in its place. She and the elf made the bed with the new bedding they’d brought. After this, she thanked all three of them again, and they went back to their original duties. Not before she’d given them each a coin. They’d been hesitant to take her money, but she assured them it’d be fine. Clover was a lot, but most importantly, she was a pragmatist. Always, she was thinking of a way to better her standing with the people of Haven, and especially its leaders. If word were to get around that she was polite, as well as generous, this wouldn’t necessarily be a terrible thing.

            The place was really coming together now, and she was content with it. She wasn’t sure how long it would take for her to find a way back home, but she knew it wasn’t going to happen tomorrow or anytime soon. If she was going to survive here she’d have to make sure she remained within good terms with the Inquisition. She seemed to be within Leon’s good graces, which she wagered was a huge advantage. She knew Varric was a great guy and had no worries there. Having him on her side could only help. Sera was… well _her_. Clearly, she was a fan. Cullen and Cassandra seemed to not have any adverse feelings for her but weren’t her best friends either. Josephine clearly saw some potential in her presence if how much she’d done for her was any indication. She’d use this to her gain and butter the woman up any way she could. Leliana was a lot different than she remembered. She’d changed into a completely different person over the years. She wasn’t the bubbly little redhead that sung and spun stories anymore. She’d grown cold and ruthless. Her heart hardened.

            As for Solas, she was still a little unsure of him. He seemed nice enough, but there were moments where he’d have an odd look in his eyes. As if he were observing her like a predator would prey. She got peculiar vibes from him, to say the least. Like there was a lot more beneath what he tried to show everyone. There was no way she believed someone who carried themselves like that, or spoke so eloquently, was just a simple elven mage that wandered the woods dreaming.

            About getting back home, she was at a loss. The usual rule of thumb was if you got in you could go out the same way, right? However, diving head first into a rift didn’t seem like the wisest option. Especially considering, if she had this correct, they were popping demons out like a mama rabbit in spring. It was obvious she would have to do some digging. If magic existed in this world, then perhaps there was a way for her to use it? Maybe she could find a magic spell to teleport her sorry ass back home.

            With a sigh, Clover walks over to the freshly cleaned window, and sees that it is nearing late evening. That was when she remembered that she was supposed to meet Solas for a chat.

            “Fuck and shit!” She swore. She was about to run for the door when she noticed a gross smell. Lifting an arm, she brought her nose to her underarm. “Ugh, I smell.”

            Moving with haste, she runs for the pot hanging by the fire. Clover runs to the river and fills it with the ice-cold water. Running back inside her cabin she nearly trips and spills it. She turns and finds the cause for her stumble is the crate the elf had left. Before she examines its contents, she puts the pot over the fire.

            Returning to the offending box, she drops to her knees and lifts the cloth covering it. Inside are a couple more tunics and undershirts. She also spotted what looked like a bandeau. It seemed a bit small, but she could make it work. Her chest probably appeared smaller thanks to the sports bra. There was also some odd-looking underwear, and she decided it best to avoid wearing such frilly things and simply go without until she could get a more practical pair. It seems she would have to make due with one pair of leggings, however. Along with that, is what looks like a bar of soap. She could cry! Josephine was heaven sent.

            Without hesitation she strips from the waist up. The water wasn’t hot yet. In fact, it was just barely lukewarm, but it would have to suffice. She was already behindhand and didn’t want to be out late. Her body was dead tired from today and she considered skipping. She didn’t want to seem rude, though. She had to build a positive reputation, after all. Clover dunked her head into the water, then rubbed her head with the bar of soap. Using her fingernails to scrub at her scalp, she worked up a lather.

            When she was satisfied, she dunked her head once more and rinsed her hair of suds and ringed it out. Grabbing a clean rag, she dipped it into the water and lathered it with soap, as well. She made quick work of washing her body, before rinsing the rag and then her body off. Taking the thin cloth that packaged the crate, she toweled off her body and hair. Once dry, she put on her new bandeau and undershirt, but replaced the dark blue tunic from before. She didn’t want to dirty her new clothing yet. Taking her fingers, she brushes her damp hair back to hang over her right shoulder.

            Clover exits her house and locks up. The key was on a string, so she ties it around her neck and tucks it into her tunic.

            The sky was set in gentle hues of fading violet, pink, blue, and orange. That was when she noticed there were two moons in the sky. The obvious one was enormous and fantastical, while the other was a bit smaller and hid behind the larger. The soldier campsite near her new home—that would take some getting used to—was crowded as they took their evening meal. She realized she was famished and decided to grab some bread on the way to Solas’. She still had some spare coin in the pouch tied to her belt.

            When she entered the Singing Maiden, the place was swamped with people trying to get their supper. The brunette swam through the sea of people and made it to the dry land of the bar. Flissa came over to Clover after waiting for the tavern owner to finish with another customer.

            “’Ello, luv. What can I do for ye?” Flissa greets.

            “Think I can get a loaf of bread?” She returns.

            The woman winks, “I can certainly get ye that. Are ya just havin’ the bread then?”

            Clover responds with a nod.

            Flissa clucks her tongue. “I’ve heard you were out toiling away in the snow and wind all day. Can’t ‘av ya just eatin’ some measly bread!” Flissa turns from her and walks over to the kitchen area. Clover watches her as she constructs a couple of what looks like this world’s version of a sandwich. Once she’s done with that, she wraps them and returns to her. “Here take these.”

            As she reaches for her coin pouch, Flissa intervenes, “Now, now. No need for that. Take this as a welcome gift to Haven. I’ve heard you’re a good lot.” She winks with a grin.

            Clover’s face blooms into a wide smile, “Wow, I don’t know what to say other than thank you so much.”

            The owner waves her off, “Think nothin’ of it. ‘Av a good night, luv.” With that, she moved on to the next patron. People were so nice in this world. Where were these kinds of folks in her world?

            Clover was a girl with an appetite but decided she could do with just the one sandwich and would offer the other to Solas. And, hell, if he didn’t want it then more for her.

            The walk to Solas’ home was brief, and once she was on his stoop she knocked lightly. Before long, the door was opened to reveal the resident bald elf. When he saw it was her he gave her a polite greeting.

            “Hey there, Solas. I’m super sorry for being so late. I brought you a present as an apology,” her voice was affable, and she grinned at him as she held up the sandwich for the elf to see. “I didn’t know if you’d eaten yet, and Flissa gave me an extra sandwich. Interested?”

            “How thoughtful of you both,” he pronounced with a small smile, “I have yet to eat.” Opening the door wider, he moved aside and gestured for her to enter. “Please come in.”

            Clover did as Solas asked, murmuring a ‘thank you’, and he shut the door behind her. Turning back to him, she held out the wrapped sandwich. His long fingers grabbed the parcel delicately from her grasp. “I assume you have come to review the current events of Thedas as we conversed yesterday?”

            She nods her head and moves towards the wall near his desk. Solas follows her and mimics Clover’s leaning position against it. “You got it,” she affirms. Unable to wait any longer, she unwraps her sandwich and takes a large bite. Again, the elven apostate mirrors her actions, and tucks into his. They eat in silence for a bit, before she finally breaks it. “So, my main concern is the Inquisition. I can pretty much guess what they’re going for, but I don’t really understand the particulars.”

            Solas finishes the last bite of his sandwich and rubs his hands together to rid them of crumbs. _Lord, that boy was hungry,_ she internally blanched. After he swallows, he clears his throat. “The Inquisition’s main priority is sealing the Breach.”

            “That’s what we’re calling that thing in the sky, right?”

            “Indeed. It seems our best means of doing so is via the Herald’s Mark. However, he alone does not hold enough power to accomplish such a feat.”

            “Mark?” Her voice was laden with confusion.

            Solas pushes off the wall and reaches for a leather-bound journal on his desk. Returning to her side, he flips through it until he finds the page he was searching for. He hands it over to her and takes in an impressively realistic drawing of a hand. There is an intricate design upon the upturned palm, appearing to look more like a scar than a tattoo.

            Solas gestures to the book within her hands, “This is a sketch of the Herald’s hand I made while tending to him during his comatose state.” Sketch? She thought it was a bit more than just a sketch. “The day of the blast, he had somehow come through the Breach. How he could sojourn such a voyage within the Fade physically, I do not know. Initially, Cassandra and Leliana alleged him to be the likeliest culprit. However, it was soon discovered he was uninvolved with the murder of the Divine. He’d merely come to spy on the Conclave for the rebel mages of Ostwick; but another victim caught up in it all. Regrettably, he has no memory of the events leading up to or of receiving the Mark.”

            “So, this Mark? It can also close the smaller Rifts?” Solas nods in concurrence. She reflects on his words about Leon somehow surviving within the Fade. If she remembered right, only mages and dreamers could enter the fade while sleeping. Non-mages could dream as well, but neither remembered their dreams nor were aware while within them; dwarves were unable to dream at all as they had no attachment to the Fade or magic. She wondered if this would affect herself. She’d not dreamt last night, but that was most likely due to her deep exhaustion. In addition to that, she had gone inside the fade, too, and even come out on the other side in a different dimension. (Was that what this was? Technically, she supposed, it would be.) Did that mean she was in the same boat as Leon and could pass through the Fade alive. Or did that mean something else entirely. Perhaps living people _could_ enter the Fade physically and make it out the other side, and it’d always been assumed they couldn’t.

            She broke herself from this internal tangent, as she could feel Solas’ eyes upon her, watching as her expressions changed with her thoughts. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to go all quiet on you.” She chuckles sheepishly.

            “It is fine. Although you do seem to have a proclivity to get lost in thought. Is this a common behavior? Or perhaps it is due to all the recent changes you’ve undergone in such an abbreviated time?”

            Clover closed the book and returned it to its former spot on the desk. She stood with her back to him, casually inspecting the various titles of the books strewn over its surface in mass. When she focused on the text of one’s cover, it did the same blurring thing as the other time’s she’d tried to read. She was starting to see a pattern. Was there… different characters in front of her and it was somehow translating into a means for her to understand? Did that mean she wasn’t speaking English? She supposed that made sense, but at the same time didn’t. It made sense that they wouldn’t be speaking a language from a society they’d had no known contact with before. However, _just how_ this was occurring was when sense ceased to function.

            She directed the conversation back to the subject, “Have you ever considered that people could enter the Fade physically but have just never done it before. Or—well—until now.”

            Solas considered this for a moment, “Perhaps. Though it is still incredibly perplexing. Everything that we know would suggest that it is impossible, but I suppose such obstinate thoughts serve no one.”

            Turning back around, she leans against the edge of the desk. She asks him several more questions, and he answers them without any complaints. Eventually they branched off onto other subjects. He almost seemed to enjoy her thirst for knowledge.

            During this, a thought occurs to her, “So, earlier today when I met Leon, he was telling me that you were an apostate? I mean, even before the whole rebellion thing. And that you wandered around on your own.”

            Solas grinned at her. She barely caught it, but he saw an unreadable light pass his eyes. “That is correct.”

            “We’ve got that in common then,” she emphasized amicably.

            “I suppose you have a point. Though my reasons for travelling alone were, perhaps, more attuned to exploring than to avoid society,” his voice was steady and polite, but she detected a biting edge to it. Had she somehow hit a nerve with her earlier question?

            “It isn’t really to avoid society, I just prefer being by myself. It’s easier. I guess you could say I liked the whole lone wolf thing,” she laughs. Again, she saw something stir in his eyes. On the opposite side, Solas was becoming both alarmingly amused and riled by her words. She tried to press on with the same manner of cordiality, “If you don’t mind me askin’, where’s someplace you’ve explored?”

            Solas turns, arms folding behind his back. He sets into a story, “Once, I discovered the ancient ruins of a lost city. Most of it had been submerged in the rising tide of the sea, but there still remained a large part of the city above water.” She shut her eyes and tried to envision what he was describing. “I found a building that had remained in operative composition, before lying down to dream. When I do this, I can see and experience time’s long past and new. I witnessed the cause for the cities destruction.

            “It was not the rising sea level at fault; a large earthquake had taken place thousands of years ago. The natural disaster sent half the metropolis sinking into the depths. The rest was nothing more than crumbled devastation. All those that had survived packed what little they had left, before setting out in search of a new place to call home.”

            Solas turned his head to find she had shut her eyes. She opened them after a few beats of silence had passed. “Do you know what the city was called?” The brunette asked. He shook his head, “Any information that I could have garnered was far too forgotten. To garner a memory, someone must still hold it. Whether it be mortal or spirit, it matters not. Yet, it still must be remembered.”

            “That makes sense,” Clover conceded. “Thank you for the story, Solas. You have a talent for narration. You may even give Varric a run for his money,” she teases.

            A light chuckle escapes him, “You flatter me. Though I must contend that Varric is a master of his craft.”

            Bobbing her head side to side, she finally breaks, “Alight, I guess that’s probably true. But can’t you just take the compliment,” she laughs again.

            Solas looks to the window and see’s that it is late, “I have enjoyed our talk, but I must ask that you be on your way.”

            She felt herself clench up, “Oh no! What time is it?!” The woman rushes over to the window and sees that the sun is completely gone, the moon taking its place in the sky. “I’m so sorry,” she worried at Solas, “I didn’t mean for it to run this late.”

            He waves her off, “You needn’t worry, I also lost track of the time. One tends to do so in good company,” he asserts.

            With a short laugh she nods, “That’s true enough. Again, thank you so much for giving me your time. I’m sure you are really busy.”

            “I do not mind. Truly.” Solas heads over to the front door, before stopping and turning. “Ah, before I let the thought escape me, you have left your pack and clothing here. I assume, now that your lodging is finished in its repairs, that you will want to take them?”

            “Oh, thanks for reminding me!” She was thankful he reminded her. She worried about its contents being seen. She certainly didn’t have an excuse or lie prepared to explain what the hell a walkie talkie or GPS was. Let alone the contents of her first-aid kit.

            Solas gestures to where she had left her belongings and she quickly retrieved them. “I appreciate you letting me store them here. You’re the best.” She’d crouched down and put her backpack on her shoulders and grabbed her old clothes and shoes in her arms.

            “Will you be alright to carry those to your housing?” The elf queried.

            With a smile, she righted herself, “I’m a big girl, I got it.”

            He feigns a confused expression, head cocking to the side in an increasingly endearing display. “I was of the credence that you were quite the contrary. You could scarcely reach the top shelf of my bookcase.”

            “Hey where do you get off on making fun of a girl’s height!” She put on an annoyed pout. “I don’t make fun of you for being bald.” She jabbed brusquely.

            Solas let out a deep chuckle, “You wound me, so.” He raises a hand to his chest; a humorous smile stretched his lips to expose straight white teeth. She registers this for the first time. She didn’t mean to be rude, but most people here had poor dental hygiene. No one, aside from nobility, bothered to take care of their teeth. Even then it was rare. So how did this simple elf who roamed about chasing dreams and memories have such? She also noted that he was also well-formed. Seemingly sturdy in frame and tall. This was another thing she found odd about him. Weren’t most elves supposed to be short and scrawny?

            She dismissed it, in the end. There was always the possibility that he was an outlier. There were tall dwarves and even short humans that could pass as dwarves. This was most likely the case for Solas. Though his situation involved him being bigger than his kin.

            “Well I’ve taken up enough of your time. Have a good night, Solas.”

            He opens the door for her, “I hope we might speak again. I rather enjoyed your perspective on the topics we discussed today.”

            “Of course. I’d love to,” she grinned, exiting into the chilly night. “See ya around,” she bid.

            The elf nodded, “That is very likely,” he teased.

            With that, she turned and set out to get home—yep, still bizarre—and into bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is kinda long. Sorry about that. I couldn't find a good enough break that wouldn't be too awkward, so it had to be there. The next chapter will be pretty interesting though! So keep yer peepers peeled! 
> 
> I also wanted to mention I'm so grateful for all the kudos this has already got! Thanks a ton and I hope you dudes enjoy! <3
> 
> -FriendlyFire
> 
> P.S. If there are any super bad inconsistencies or spelling/grammatical errors, let me know, my guy!!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking a century to upload another chapter. This week was busy, and I found this chapter difficult to hash out. Thanks for your patience and enjoy! <3 I'm really not happy with it, but I need to let go of my personal criticisms. Also, I half-assed editing this, so apologies if there is tons of errors. :(
> 
> -FriendlyFire

            Rain pattered on the windshield of the hand-me-down car. The soft sound mingled with the only just audible music playing from the car’s radio. She was just crossing over Oregon’s state line into Canada. This was the last time she’d be in Oregon for quite some time. Clover was leaving to start college in Vancouver and was under the impression that she would have little time to come home for any visits. She was content with this. There was nothing that mattered there anymore. No one that mattered.

            In the memory, her hands gripped the steering wheel more tightly, knuckles paling. Tears stung the corners of her eyes. Defiantly, she bit back her sobs and blinked away the threatening overflow. It was hard to say goodbye to all she was, but there was no other choice now.

 She wasn’t sure what tipped her off in that moment, perhaps it was déjà vu, or perhaps it was the sensation of her hands that didn’t feel real enough. Whatever it was, it snapped her out of it quickly. Suddenly, she was no longer in her car. An endless green hell scape stretched out in front of her. Large crags sprung forth from the ground, tearing into the sky endlessly. Shrieking could be heard amidst an eerie echo. The wind clung to an uncomfortably damp chill, leaving a stale taste in her mouth. The emotions that had currently raced within her were now flung upside down. Even more worrisome, she’d been capable of lucid dreaming back home. Clearly it would become much more dangerous here. What she’d dreaded was true, then. She was a dreamer.

            Clover felt her fear swell up, and something told her this was not a wise course of action. If she recalled correctly, the… _Fade_ … reacted to a person’s thoughts and emotions. Did this mean she was a mage? This didn’t seem possible, yet she had a feeling anything could happen to her at this point.

            Trying to push aside her anxiety before it attacked her, her mind raced to come up with a solution. Didn’t Solas say he was a dreamer? Maybe he could help her? He seemed incredibly knowledgeable on the subject and had the patience for teaching. Could you even contact other people like that? She tried to concentrate on his face, focusing on how he felt to be around.

            At this thought, her vision swam momentarily before it all came into clarity again.

            The world around her was strange and wonderful. She’d been transported to a room that was so ornate she felt that a single step would shatter it. The walls and ceiling were made of smoky caerulean crystal, it was textured in such a way that it seemed to have naturally grown into being. Little speckles of glittering orbs in a cornucopia of colors pulsated through it like a bloodstream. The floors were made from a white marble with veins of gold and translucent quartz. Impressed into the walls were what appeared to be naturally occurring bookshelves filled with extravagant books organized by size and color. Even the tables, chairs, and other furniture seemed to be made from the crystal, though there were willowy pieces of wood intricately braided into them as accents. The lone wall that did not hold shelves was comprised of windows with delicate draperies hanging from them ostensibly sewn from gemstones and silk. Golden beams of sunlight cast rainbows off the draperies, which warmed the room, and a gentle breeze caused them to tinkle gently.

            A sweet fragrance fanned across her face she’d no words to articulate precisely. The best she could say was it seemed to be composed of some sort of flower and some sort of spice she’d never partook of before this moment. That was when she noticed the presence of a man in one of the corners of the room. His back was turned to her, but from what she could see he was wearing elaborate robes in a rich tyrian purple. The robes were interspersed with bits of gelded armor. They seemed to shine and glow of their own volition. His hair was long in a shimmering deep red with coppery highlights. The sides were shaved, while the tresses that hung behind his back had beads and metal baubles braided into intricate plaits. Then, she noticed the ears, gracefully pointed, with jeweled cuff earrings clinging to the arches.

            “Hello?” Her voice was hesitant. Was this one of the spirit dwellers she’d heard of? She did not think they were supposed to seem so corporeal.

            The stranger became rigid at her voice, turning quickly to see who had arrived. When she saw his face, her breath was taken away. He was stunning. His eyes shown with a stormy violet-grey that almost glittered; not a line of worry etched anywhere upon his face. Freckles stood out most becomingly upon the creamy expanse of his high cheekbones.

            “Clover?” The elf questioned in a deep voice full of surprise.

            _That was Solas!?_ She thought in astonishment. “Solas?! Is that you?”

            With a wave of a hand, the room was swept away. Carrying with it every gorgeous detail that it held, including the ones affecting Solas. “How did you get here?” He sounded stunned.

            The woman’s head swam, not able to keep up with the scenery change. They were now standing in a snowy field outside of Haven. Pressing her hands to her eyes, she tried to chase away the dizziness. Solas must have realized this. “Forgive me, I did not mean to shift our location so swiftly. You have just caught me in a private dream that I was not keen to share.”

            Becoming once again cognizant, she combs her fingers through her hair. Her head tilts up, and blue eyes meet the now dulled grey of the elf’s—though she did catch the careful hint of violet she had not noticed before. “No, I’m sorry. It was an accident,” she sounded winded, “I hadn’t meant to be so intrusive. I wasn’t thinking straight.”

            Solas watches her, trying to squash the irritation he felt at having his research interrupted. He was sympathetic for throwing her off, “Are you alright? Why have you sought me out?”

            She was stumbling over what to say. “I was reliving a memory a while ago, but then I realized I was asleep. I have been able to do this before, so I usually just messed around with the dream. However, when I realized I was dreaming this time, I was ripped from the memory and thrown into this crazy green place.”

            That was when it occurred to Solas: she was a dreamer. “I confess, I am a bit alarmed at how aware you are. I’d never thought a person without magic capable of having a connection to the Fade this deep.”

            Clover quickly forms a decent response, “I’ve never really thought about it before. I guess being on my own for so long doesn’t help.”

            “I must ask: are you opposed to me examining you?” He becomes professional, just as he had that first night in his cabin.

            The brunette is hesitant, but considering she’d just invaded his privacy, it was only fair. So, she says as much. “I guess it’s fine, all considered.” She tried for a friendly, encouraging smile.

            The elf replicates her, though his is a bit more demure. “I’ll be but a moment.” He now stood directly in front of her. Winds kicked up around them as he did, throwing her hair about her face. Lifting his hands, she watched as they took on the familiar blue glow. She watched as his brow furrowed, the sides of his lips pull down in a grimace.

            “Is anything the matter?” Her voice was tentative.

            “I am unsure of what to say,” he finally admits. “I’ve never come across such an energy before.” He lifts his head to look her in the eyes, “Are you sure you’ve never had any magical abilities?”

            She shakes her head, looking staggered “I’m positive I’d remember something like that. If I have any kind of abilities, I’ve never been aware they exist.”

            Solas takes his hands away. One goes to his chin, and the other supports the elbow of the first. He begins to pace, “This is all very strange.”

            “Mind if I ask what’s so strange? You’re kind of freaking me out.” She replies apprehensively.

            Her question breaks him from his stride. “I am unsure. I shall need to do some research.” In truth, he was rather startled that she had been able to sneak up on him. Especially within the Fade. He hadn’t even sensed her approach, let alone her presence behind him. How long had she been standing there? He never would have known had she not spoken out. Furthermore, he had never felt such an energy before. It was insignificant presently, but he could sense its growth. There was a power budding within her.

            “What has your experience with dreaming been in the past?” Solas pressed.

            Anxiously, she looks down at her hands. They form into fists, and her eyes shut. “It’s hard for me to explain, Solas.” He watches her throat bob as she swallows. “Let’s just put it this way: I have dreamed my whole life and been aware within them for years. However, I’ve never gone to that weird place before.”

            “I will watch over you, if you wish.” He finally says.

            She shakes her head, “I can take care of myself. This was just one moment of weakness. Please just forget this ever happened, and I’ll try to do the same.”

            “I cannot allow you to put yourself in danger. If what I sense within you is indeed slumbering magic, there is a chance you could become corrupted.”

            Clover lifts her head and squints at him, “I’m sure I’ll be fine. Demons are as obvious as a pie on a windowsill.”

            A sigh draws from him as he takes into consideration her words. She did seem highly aware—so much so she might as well be awake. Even mages are typically somewhat oblivious. “Very well. Though I would like you to come to me should you have any questions. Outside of the Fade, preferably.” He teases.

            She laughs sheepishly, “That is completely reasonable, and I appreciate it. Again, I am sorry. Can we start over?”

            He gives her an understanding smile, “All is forgiven. If I should find time, I will teach you ways to fortify your resistance whilst in the Fade.”

            She reaches up and pats him on the shoulder, “You’re a good friend, Solas, thank you.”

            “You are most welcome,” he replies with a nod. His head tilts to the side, “Dawn appears to be arriving, so I shall bid you farewell. Perhaps we will see each other in the waking world.”

            “See you later, Solas.” She smiles.

            Solas fades away with a nod. She then wakes herself up.

            __________________________________________________________

 

            The fire had died down, barely allowing shadows to be cast across the cabin walls. The woman rises from beneath the furs and blankets of her bed, whining when her feet hit the cold floor. Wood was tossed onto the embers of last night’s fire, and a pot of water was swung over it to begin heating. As she waited for this, she approached the small window of the shack and saw the sun wasn’t up yet, but soon would be. A slice of the sky had just begun to glimmer silvery blue and burgundy on the horizon, beckoning the coming day.

            There had been fresh snowfall, so as she dressed for the day she added a second pair of socks underneath her boots. Before that, she washed up a bit and got prepared for her first day with Adan. On her way to the tavern for breakfast, she crossed paths with Varric. The two greeted each other and chatted for a bit.

            “How’d you sleep last night?” Varric asked pleasantly.

            She shrugged, “Well enough. Thanks for asking. I suppose I don’t need to ask about you. You’ve got bags under your eyes almost as dark as Cullen.”

            Varric chuckled bashfully, “Yeah… Sleep hasn’t been coming easy lately. My brain just won’t shut the hell up.”

            “Y’know, I’m about to start working with Adan today. I could always see if he can’t do anything to help you with that insomnia,” the brunette offers with a smile.

            He gives her a weird look, “The hell is that?”

            She blinks at him in surprise, “Insomnia? Just some fancy title that means you can’t sleep at night. Though, I should add that it’s a little more serious than that.”

            The dwarf purses his lips and nods his head, “Interesting. Never knew it had a label. Hell, kid, it can’t hurt.” He laughs.

            She winks at him and gives him a pat on the shoulder, “I’ll catch ya later, Varric.” Clover turns before he responds, and finally makes her way to the Singing Maiden. Flissa is all bubbles and lollipops as usual when she sits down at the bar. When she brings Clover her breakfast, she even flirts with her a bit. As she was in a rather good mood from talking with Varric, the brunette decides to even shoot a few honeyed words back the tavern owner’s way. The blond blushes at her this, not having expected anything to come of it.

            After her meal was finished, she finally arrives at Adan’s hut. When she opens the door, she finds a mustachioed bald man in robes standing with his back turned to her bending over a desk. Clover had packed a makeshift satchel made from the fabric that had covered the crate the elf had delivered to her. Within it were the notes that Adan had wanted from her new residence.

            “Adan?” She called out.

            He obviously hadn’t noticed her enter, even though the door had even scraped the floor loudly. With a sharp turn, he finally looked at her. “Clara, is it?”

            _Uhm, what?_ She gave him a confused look, “I think you mean Clover, actually.”

            He scoffed, “Well I suppose you’d know then, wouldn’t you?”

            A brow lifts at his words, “Yes, I would. My name _is_ Clover. You must be Adan, right?”

            “Yes, yes. Enough with the introductions,” he waved her off.

            “I brought the notes Josephine said you wanted,” she continued. It was no flack off her back to skip the useless minutiae.

            He jumped at her at her words, “Ah! You found them?!”

            “Sure,” her hands held out the good-sized stack of papers. “Here you go.”

            The apothecary snatched them out of her fingers. Impatiently, he flipped through them, exclaiming, “The old man was really onto something here! You,” he suddenly shouted, “d’ya know anything useful about alchemy?”

            The brunette shook her head with an apologetic frown, “Sorry, but not really. I think Josephine’s intention was for me to take over caring for the injured. I know you’re supposed to be the apothecary, right?”

            Adan shot her a look mixed between disappointment and disbelief, “Well, yes…” he grumbled, then continued, “I’ll begin teaching you the basics during downtime, then. We ‘av no sick, thank the Maker, so we can begin now. You’ll need to know more than just taking care of a broken arm or a sword wound. You’ll need to know how to administer tonics if someone is ill.”

            And that was how her day went. The grumpy man gave her writing materials, including a ratty stack of vellum tied together with leather cord and a shoddy quill with a bottle of ink that was almost empty. He was surprised with how diligent and neat her notes were, as he’d considered Clover to be an ignorant bumpkin. She tried not to take offense, and instead see his words as a compliment. The woman honestly expected this.

            As she wrote, he brought over different specimens of vegetations, so she could observe them. She couldn’t draw to save her life, as she’d always been more of a painter, so she instead wrote brief descriptions of what they looked, smelled, and felt like. Adan advised her not to taste them, as there were a few that were quite poisonous in their basic form. She took his word as biblical and kept them far away from her mouth after that, instead choosing to waft their scent towards her nose. She eventually quit doing that as well, as she realized that poison could technically be inhaled, too.

            After seeing how well she’d been doing with that, he started her on grinding and combining herbs for basic healing potions. She was thrilled, ready to be of any help she could. The hut was quiet, aside from the dull crackling from the hearth and Adan’s mumbling as his quill scratched away. Clover had begun to work herself into a rhythm, humming randomly as she did so. Before long, the sun was low in the sky. It left her notice until her cranky companion spoke up, “Oi, that’s enough for today. Consider this an advance for your work today. I expect this kind of work every day, so don’t let it get to your head, girl.”

            As he laid a pouch in her open palm, she heard a clinking. She loosened the mouth of it and spied a pile of silver coins. “Ai, ai, captain!” She agreed heartily.

            “Be on your way, then. I’ll be expecting you bright and early tomorrow. Don’t forget your materials, as we’ll be continuing your training. I also want you to fill me in on what you _do_ know as far as healing is concerned. The elf tells me that your skills are rather impressive. I should like to know how good they are so that the next time we have injured I’ll know what I can encumber you with.”

            Before she was on her way, she stopped at the cabin’s threshold. “Oh! Before I forget, Adan? Varric, the dwarf that hangs out near the front of Haven? He was telling me he’s been having trouble sleeping. He’s gonna get sick if it keeps up. Do you have anything to help him get to sleep?”

            Wiggling his mustache and rolling his eyes, he turns to his shelves of potions, grumbling all the while. Clinking accompanies his muttering, until finally, he returns to her, proffering a wooden pot. He demonstrated removing the cork stoppering it, allowing the brunette to see the balm within. “Tell em’ to dab the bloody stuff under his eyes every night before sleep. Should help him.” Just as she’s taking it from him, he adds, “Heard you were nice enough from a few people around town. Consider this a reward for showing _some_ promise today. Next time you or the dwarf’ll ‘av to pay.”

            “I appreciate it. I’ll make sure to tell Varric how nice you were, and let you know if it works,” she smiles.

            “If?” He scoffs, “It’ll work. Now go on.”

            He begins to shoo her out of his place. She’s barely out the door before its slammed shut.

            “Geez,” she mumbles.

            Distantly, she hears chuckling. Clover searches for the source. Outside his home, she spies Solas standing outside his home holding a book in one hand. The other arm is held behind his back. Who stood like that? He was as stiff as a soldier. “Charming man, isn’t he?” She hears his words carried on the wind.

            She walks over to him with a wink. “He’s a big softy underneath it all, I can tell.”

            “I suppose you might,” he allows.

            Clover tilts her head to get a look at his book’s cover. He sees what she’s trying to do and holds it up for her. “This is one Master Tethras’ books, Swords and Shields.”

            Her laughter surprises him, “Wow, I did not peg you the type, buddy.”

             “I am sure I don’t know what you mean, my lady.”

            “Oh, you don’t? Mr. Sophistication reading a steamy romance novel?” She pokes his arm.

            His eyes crinkle as he smiles at her, a hint of something salacious within it, “Am I not allowed to find romance and sex appealing?”

            The woman felt a five-alarm blush creep up her neck and cheeks, “I… I guess you are.” _Lord in heaven,_ she thinks, flustered.

            Solas, on the other hand, seemed delighted at her stumbling, “Have I said something to upset you, my lady?” His voice lowered an octave as his delicate voice practically sung to her.

            She could feel herself rise in temperature, back becoming humid. What was he playing at? “Of course not!” The brunette laughed. “I just wasn’t expecting it, is all. Varric’s a great writer, I’m sure it’s an enjoyable read.”

            He nods, tilting his head in thought, “True,” he stops, continue to ponder his words. His flick back to hers, pinning her to the spot, “Shall I lend my copy to you once I finish.” The way he said ‘finish’ implied _way_ too much.

            To her despair, she stutters, “I-I-I…” She clears her throat, “That’s very thoughtful, Solas. Thank you,” she simply replies. “Speaking of Varric! The dear man! I need to deliver something to him. I also need to grab dinner! I’ll catch you later!”

            Just as she was turning to leave, she hears him speak up, “Just a moment. I’d enjoy joining you for your evening meal, as I’ve not had mine either.” She hears his light footfalls returning to his cabin, so he may return his book. Her face looks up to the sky, asking fate what she ever did to deserve this embarrassment. “I have returned, shall we visit Varric before or after we take our evening meal?”

            Barely turning her head to smile at him, she replies, “We should stop by Varric before. I’d like to go back home as soon as I’m done eating. I’m dog tired,” she admits.

            “Very well,” he beams at her.

            She hides her glower by staring at the ground. He was doing this to her on purpose. And he was. Solas was extremely amused from flustering her. He had not thought it possible, but she was clearly taken off guard from his flirtations. If he’d known a bit of seduction was all it took to crumble her walls, he’d have started out that way. He would be lying if said he had not found her blushing face attractive, as well as entertaining.

            As the pair made it to Varric’s usual haunt, she saw the dwarf’s face twist into a shit-eating grin. “Have you noticed you’ve got a shadow?”

            Playing along she looked around and then pretended to be shocked at seeing Solas beside her, “When did you get there?! WE need to put a bell on you, I swear!”

            Varric laughs heartily, slapping a knee. “Alright, alright, I get it. Anyway, what brings you around?”

            Withdrawing the wooden pot from her makeshift bag, she offers it to him. He takes it from her with a curious look, “What d’ya got here?”

            “Just a little thing I got from our favorite apothecary. Rub this balm beneath your eyes just before you lie down. It’ll help you get to sleep,” she nods, placing her hands at her hips after she gestures to the container.

            The look he gives her nearly brought her to tears. He looked unmistakably overcome from her doing what she thought was such a simple thing. “Aw, shit. Thanks. I didn’t really think you’d do anything. I owe you one.”

            She gives him an offended look, shaking her head madly, “No, no! Absolutely not! This was just a simple thing really. Think nothing of it. It’s what friends do, right?”

            Varric presents her with his gap-toothed grin, “You know what? You’re right. It is just what friends do.” Little did she know that his grin hid more than she knew.

            Solas was, admittedly, impressed by her generosity. He’d heard she’d been polite and kind to everyone she’d encountered. Including all elves. It was no surprise the locals were enjoying her presence already. It seemed the Child of Stone was yet another easy addition to her ever-growing list of admirers. He was beginning to consider himself among them.

            “Alright. Well, I’ll see you around?” Clover asked, hopeful.

            The dwarf winks at her, with a most charming smile plastered to his face, “You can bet on it.”

            With a wave, she leaves with Solas beside her. “I am surprised Adan was willing to give you such a remedy. I was under the impression we were on limited provisions.”

            The woman shakes her head and shrugs, “Honestly, I have no idea what I did. I guess I must have done something right for him to be so nice.”

            “Perhaps he was simply pleased to see someone eager to do their part. I am certain he’s been overwhelmed at being charged as the sole caretaker of the ill. I have tried to assist him, but I am regrettably busy with my own tasks. It is no surprise he’s warmed up to you. You are gracious and pleasant and just what Haven needs. He likely sees you as a blessing.”

            When he turns his head to see her reaction, he finds a blush spreading across her cheeks. “I don’t think I’m doing anything especially amazing,” she murmurs.

            “Even when complimented you maintain a modest sensibility,” he teases.

            A short snort of a laugh escapes her as she shakes her head, “Whatever you say, buddy.”

            Upon arriving to the Singing Maiden, they find it no more crowded than usual. Which is to say abundantly. Surprisingly, they find Leon and Cullen sitting at a table near the entrance. Leon notices them enter and beckons them over with a broad grin. Clover turns to Solas and gives him a questioning look to see if he was okay with that, and he simply shrugs with a civil smile. She audibly agrees, “Why not?”

            “How has your evening been, my friends?” Leon’s boisterous voice questions as they sit.

            “It’s been pretty good. Today was my first day with Adan,” she responds. Solas concurs that his day has been pleasant. “How have you been, Leon? It’s also nice to see you again, Cullen,” the brunette turns to him with a sweet smile.

            Cullen nods to her, a placid expression on his face. “I’ve been incredibly busy, but it is no surprise. I’ve been hearing good things about you in my reports, by the way.”

            She blinks at him, “Me? You get reports on me?”

            “He and the rest of his lot monitor everyone worth note,” Leon gestures to the Commander with such nonchalance it surprises her.

            The blonde clears his throat after side-eying him, “I was under the impression that the Herald was exaggerating his first encounter with you. I am pleased to find that I have been receiving reports that lead me to the contrary.” Cullen had turned to Clover and gave her a contented nod.

            She scratches the back of her head bashfully, “I’m just trying to do my part.” The woman was becoming overwhelmed by all the praise she’d been receiving today. Were these people so used to no one carrying their own weight?

            The four of them are soon served dinner. Clover decides that she would partake of some ale tonight, to celebrate such a successful day. She rarely imbibed, so she was a light weight. The single flagon had her feeling good, to say the least. She and Leon, who’d been putting them away, had begun to sing along with the bard, along with quite a few of the other bar’s patrons.

            Cullen watched them in worry, Solas merely sat back amused by the spectacle. After the song finished, the two came back to sit down. Clover ordered water, refusing the mug of ale Leon was pushing towards her. “I think one is enough, thanks.” Her face was flushed, and she had a perpetual smile. Flissa brought her water and she began to sip on it.

            “I think I should be turning in for the night. I advise you all to do the same. Especially you, Herald.” The commander suggests.

            “Ever the scrupulous Templar, are we Cullen?” Leon shoots with a laugh.

            He ignores the Herald’s words and walks away with an eye roll. Leon jumps to his feet as a lively song begins to play. He moves to dance amongst the large group massing in the center of the building. Clover observes him, a broad grin spread across his face, hair mussed from his merrymaking. With so much going on, how was he so carefree? He had the world’s problems on his shoulders, yet it didn’t seem to bother him. She wondered if she’d be able to be so relaxed in his shoes.

            The brunette was lost in thought, so when Solas asks her a question, she misses it. He decides to toy with her again, and leans over to whisper in her ear, “My lady? Should you not be getting home?” The elf’s breath fanned her ear, causing hot prickles to wash down her neck.

            Swallowing, she turns to him, his face far too close to her own. She barely nods, before he is standing and offering an arm. “Shall I walk you home, my lady? You seem to be light-headed from the drink.”

            She bites her lip, head was foggy, unable to parse together a coherent excuse. She decides it easier to just take him up on his offer. “Thank you, Solas. And, again, please. It’s just Clover.” The woman grabs his presented support, hand resting on his lean forearm. The heat from his skin begins to seep through the thin fabric of his shirt as they exit the tavern. When the door shuts the noise cuts to an inaudible mumble.

            “This way,” Solas tucks her hand into the crease of his elbow.

            Her face is taut with nerves, “Sure.”

            He stares at her from the corner of his eye, “Is anything the matter, Clover?”

            Okay, maybe she preferred the whole ‘ _my lady_ ’ thing, after all. _The way he said her name._ What the hell, he had to be yanking her around. There was no way he was being serious with this coquettish shit. Maybe he was just having a bit of fun? She shouldn’t take it so seriously. This was probably just how he joked around with what he considered a friend. She should just play along.

            “Nothing at all,sweet heart,” she pats the hand that secured her own under his arm, offering an assuring smile.

            His responding chuckle is like music to her ears. The rest of their walk is silent, for the most part. When they make it to her door, he releases her as she fishes for the key under her tunic. Seeing one last opportunity to mess with her that night, he reaches for the key himself. His cool fingers brush her collarbone, before he secures his grip on the string. Clover’s breath catches in her throat as she stands completely still for him. When he lifts the string up and over her head, it causes her hair to flip up, allowing him to smell her oat and honey scented soap.

            That was something else he noted about her: she was one of the few commoners he’d found that took care of their hygiene. She also had straight white teeth and seemed well-fed and healthy. This was unusual. Was she a runaway noble? Perhaps that could explain a more logical reason for her attack, instead of the flimsy excuse of it being a random encounter.

            Whatever the case, he quickly unlocked her front door and held the door open for her. She entered and turned back towards him in the threshold. He handed her the key back.

            “Thanks again, Solas,” her voice was quiet, barely perceptible over the whipping wind.

            “You are most welcome. I shall bid you a good night and be on my way,” he informs.

            She nods and says, “Good night. Be safe on you walk home.”

            “Of course,” he replies, before turning and walking away, disappearing around the bend of the small hill that hid the hut from direct view. She closed the door and locked it. Quickly, she starts a small fire in her hearth. With haphazard movements, she strips down to just her undershirt and leggings and climbs into bed.


	6. Chapter 6

            Today had been particularly challenging for Clover. Nearly three weeks in, and Adan was still finding it difficult to differ to her direction. She was currently walking up the last stretch towards her front door. Pulling the key from beneath her blood-stained tunic, she unlocked the door. It looked as though she’d need to soak her clothes in cold, vinegar-laced water. Again. At this point, she almost wondered if she shouldn’t burn the article and just purchase more.

            She sighed and thought better of it. She’d decided she needed to start saving towards purchasing a weapon and some armor. Apparently, some ancient Tevinter magister turned darkspawn—or, she supposed, begetter of the Blight—had it out for the Inquisition. More specifically Leon. Clover figured she should start training in case she had to fight her way out of an assault on Haven. What weapon she should train with was beyond her. She knew how to hunt with a bow but disliked imagining a close encounter battle with something more intelligent than a rabbit or deer.  A sword and shield seemed much too clunky, and a two-handed weapon seemed completely out of her comfort zone.

            That left daggers, then, as she was no mage. As far as she could tell. During the past couple weeks, she and Solas had, in secret, done a few tests to see if she was. Solas finally deduced that she had a connection to the Fade like a mage, but it seemed she could not—at least not yet—use magic. The survivalist was content with that. With all the crazy shit she’d already been put through, and continued to be, not _technically_ being a mage was fine with her. However unprecedented it seemed to Solas. Being a rogue type fighter sounded like the best option to Clover. She could remain quick on her feet and stay out of the major parts of a fight.

            Clover sits in front of her newly started fire, having drug her desk’s chair over. She’d thrown her bag down and kicked her boots off at the front door and was now resting her aching feet in front of the fire. Sitting in her slouched position, she thought back on her difficult day with Adan.

            _“What in Maker’s name do you think you’re doing, girl!?” Adan exclaims._

_She turns and gives him an annoyed expression, “Look, smearing a poultice on this large of a laceration and smothering it with a wrap is hardly the best option. I’m going to sew it shut. If you have a problem with my methods, then you can leave.” She turns back to the patient who had passed out by now and hears the door to the apothecary slam shut. She rolls her eyes at his temper tantrum and proceeds to sew up Franz’s chest and stomach. It went from left shoulder to the right side of his hip. Thankfully it hadn’t gone all the way through and disemboweled him. She had to use a bone needle (which constantly had her worried it would snap whenever she pierced his flesh with it) and thread made from animal sinew. It seemed strong enough after she’d finished. It would hold, at least._

_After washing her hands at the basin, she collects a potion from one of the shelves and returns to Franz’s unconscious body. She gently opens his mouth and pours it in. Using her thumb on his throat, tenderly, she encourages his body to accept the liquid. He grimaces in his sleep after she does this, as the medicine was terribly bitter. That should keep him, but she felt it necessary to watch him until Adan returned from his pity party. In the meantime, she decided to check inventory and catalogue what they had or requisition what they didn’t._

_When he returned it was dark, and she had long since finished checking the stocks. Instead she had begun to clean every inch of the place to maintain some sort of sanitation standard. He looked miserable from the what she could see of his face. Adan gazed at the ground, mouth pulled into a grimace beneath his mustache. She gave him a fleeting glance and a nod, before continuing her scrubbing of the table they set people on for surgery. Franz had been laying on it earlier and bled all over the thing. Oh yeah, she had to lift and carry a man nearly two heads taller than herself over to the table. **Without** pulling his stitches. If Adan thought she would let him off on this one without bitching at him, he’d be wrong._

_“Hey princess!” She greets in a faux cheery voice, though trying to keep it relatively quiet for their patient. “You finish writing your feelings down in your diary?” She gave him a sarcastic pout, batting her lashes at him from over her shoulder._

_Adan groans as if in pain, “Give it a rest.” He walks over to his table full of notes and shuffles around with them for a minute. Sulkily, she hears him mutter, “I’m sorry. It’s hard for me to admit when I’m wrong. Don’t make this harder for me.”_

_Rolling her eyes at his back, as he refused to look at her, she remarks “Why shouldn’t I? I’ve never, and would never, do this kind of shit to you, Adan. It’s highly unprofessional; not to mention unethical towards your patient. Just because a woman knows more than you, you can’t stand it, can you?”_

_He turns to her, mustache wiggling furiously, brows pulled together as he seethes. His ferocity vanishes rather quickly, however, as Clover’s expression grows dark in response. He returns to his previous mopey countenance. Adan sighs, “Maker, you’re right. I’m only angry because your bloody right. Can we please just move on from this?”_

_Clover crosses her arms over her chest and gives him a piercing look, “Depends.”_

_“On?” he presses._

_“I want an apology,” she says flatly._

_The apothecary stares at the brunette for a few beats before sighing again. “Very well. I beg your deepest pardon, my lady. For not only my gross neglect of our patient, but my unworthy behavior towards you.”_

_She decides to let him boil in the pot for a few moments, before smiling at him gently. “Thank you, Adan. I believe your apology, and I accept it. Would you be willing to move on from this and start over?”_

_“If you’d allow me to.”_

_“Of course.”_

==========================================================================================================================================

            That argument had been well on its way since she first started on at the clinic. Adan was a nice guy, really. He just had his moments of… partiality. Whether or not the animosity between them had dissipated, the tension was still there, beneath the surface. She was a big girl, however, and she had worked with shitty co-workers in the past. It was nothing she couldn’t handle.

            At that moment her stomach let out a grouchy whine. She’d not gotten the chance to eat dinner thanks to Adan’s hissy fit, so she was starving. She was looking forward to breakfast tomorrow. Hopefully Leon or Varric would be there to keep her company. She usually would find one or both waiting for her. Those mornings were always loud. She laughed to herself at the thought. Clover was thankful she had become so close to those two so quickly. They were like brothers. Varric was the doting older brother, and Leon was the mischievous younger brother. It was nice, as she had been an only child growing up. She was never any good at making friends, either. So, for them to take to her so quickly was an extraordinary joy.

Today at breakfast Leon informed her he was headed off to the Hinterlands to collect a recruiter for the Grey Wardens. That was all he had to go on, as Leliana knew nothing more of the matter. She hoped his journey was a safe one, and his return just as much.

Getting up with a groan, she dipped her fingers into the pot of water hanging over the fire and felt that it was blissfully hot. Stripping her upper half, she immediately dunks her head into the pot and begins to massage her scalp. The steam clears her sinuses, which had been bothering her all day. She continues with the rest of her nightly rituals after bathing and washing her clothes.

She found herself thinking on Leon again. She hoped that he’d be safe out there. The mage/templar situation had settle considerably in the Hinterlands. Though there was still an issue with several bandit hives cropping up in the madness. It made her blood boil to think about it.

“Fuckin’ assholes,” she mutters to herself.

Taking advantage of a chaotic situation and stealing from people who had already been through so much was disgusting. Any person who would stoop to that behavior was on Clover’s shit list. This thought just solidified her resolve to start training to fight. If she was stuck in the world, she’d need to get used to the way of things. Or at the very least, be able to protect herself and those she cared for. Which the number of whom continued to grow each day, it seemed.

An elf girl named Espen had melted her heart the other day when she dropped an entire tray of food at the Singing Maiden. Flissa had told her it was all right, but she quickly broke down in tears. Clover had gotten up from her seat mid-conversation with Varric and helped the little redhead out. As Clover helped the sniffling girl, she caught herself staring. Her eyes were so green; it almost seemed like a forest had been locked away within the depths of her irises. She even smelled of the forest, and the beautiful Vallaslin marking her face was in a yellow-green that complimented the creamy paleness of her skin enchantingly. What was a Dalish elf doing amidst the Inquisition?

Almost unable to stop herself, she’d begun to flirt with her. “So, what’s your name, sugar?” Her voice was nonchalant.

Her eyes widen a bit and a blush spreads across her cheeks and even burns the tip of her delicately pointed ears. It causes Clover’s easy smile to turn more coquettish. The girl eventually murmurs, “Espen, my lady.”

“Now darlin’, don’t be like that. I’m no lady, I can assure you of that,” she laughs lightly.

Espen got quiet, and looked down for a moment, before looking up from a broken dish she’d just picked up. Her eyes were a bit more confident when she asked, “What should I call you then?”

“My friends call me Clover,” she introduces, “and I’d be glad for you to consider yourself one.”

“Clover?” She smiles for the first time, a small thing that changes the attractiveness of her face to drop dead gorgeous. Clover about melted into a puddle when she giggled, “Like the plant that grows in fields and rabbits eat?”

“Exactly like it,” she remarks with a wink that sends the little elf blushing madly once more. Soon the mess was cleaned and Espen was off to do her job once more. Not, however, before thanking Clover profusely. She waves the redhead off, “Any time I get to play hero to a pretty girl, I’ll take it. Feel free to drop your tray again. Preferably when I’m nearby.” She laughs, Espen softly chuckling along.

When the brunette sat back down in her seat across from Varric, he was leaning back in his chair with an impressed look. He let out a low whistle, “Damn, Dot. I’d have never guessed you’d be so smooth with the ladies.”

She lets out a self-assured laugh, “Not just ladies, Varric. I think you’ll find I’m quite capable of rendering men to putty in my very capable hands.” Her gaze turns seductive to emphasize her point.

Varric’s expression becomes challenging, “Care to make a wager?”

That was when she learned to regret agreeing to any of Varric’s wagers. It didn’t help she’d been drinking that night.

 He had bet her to seduce Solas by the end of the month, or she had to run through Haven stark naked at noon. When the sun was at its highest point. So, no one would miss a single sordid angle. She was feeling stupidly self-confident after her encounter with Espen, so she agreed much too readily. In return, however, Varric had to take her weapon and armor shopping. There was one week left in their wager to somehow find the balls to hit on Solas.

It wasn’t like she wasn’t attracted to him, but he wasn’t exactly the easiest person to approach. At least not with something like that. You had a question about the way they used to engrave stone pillars in ancient Tevinter? He was your guy. However, approaching him with the intention to… _hit_ on him was an entirely different matter altogether.

She was doomed.

She’d be running through Haven naked as the day she was born for everyone and their mother to see in all her glory.

Fuck.

Clover had been lying in her bed, thinking, recalling all this. She’d been finding it difficult to wind down. Trying to distract herself from all the impending doom that seemed to be going around in this godforsaken world—cough cough. She really needed to start learning to protect herself…

Finally, she fell asleep, stomach whining. Thoughts of all the glorious foods she missed from her old world. Cheeseburgers and fries and milkshakes danced in her head.

==========================================================================================================================================

            In her dream she was at an old-fashioned ice cream parlor that had been nearby her college dorm. It stayed open late—probably for college kids like her—so she’d often find herself hankering for a chocolate malt at 2am when she was in the middle of a thesis paper. She was sat down at one of the booths, sucking away at the thick drink. Suddenly, someone sits in her booth.

            When she raises her eyes to inspect who her visitor is, Clover is greeted by a peculiar sight. A woman, glowing rose-golden, sits across from me, in what I would consider gladiator gear. If a little different in style. Perhaps a bit inspired by middle eastern culture? The helmet on her head is impressive, like something Wonder Woman would wear.

            She stares at Clover like she’s just met a long-lost friend. “I have been searching for you! You were difficult to find, but I found you. You are in need of my help!”

            The brunette blinks at her, fingers still gripping the tip of her straw. “I am?”

            “Yes! And I would be honored to give it to you!” She leans in, a broad smile on her face.

            “Uh, I’m grateful for it, but what exactly are you helping me with? Who are you?”

            The radiant woman’s skin shimmers with what must be excitement. A glittering wave of energy pulses over her being, casting me in its rosy glow. “I’m a spirit of Valor. You may simply call me Valor, as the memory of my name no longer exists. Yet, the memory of my victories still rings out from mouths of those who speak my stories.” Valor rises from her seat and holds out her hand to Clover, “I have felt your presence for some time, but had difficulty reaching you. I now know it was because you weren’t ready yet.” When she takes her hand, it dwarfs hers within its large warm expanse. Valor pulls her to stand. The spirit towers above her nearly three heads taller. “You have the soul of a very powerful entity long thought vanished. It needed time to grow within you. I would be honored to train you in the art of combat. I have felt your desire to learn.”

            To say the survivalist was reeling would be an understatement. She had the soul of a powerful and extinct being? Not just that, but this spirit felt honor bound to teach her to fight? How did Valor sense this? Why was she so hard to find? What did Valor want in return for this? It cannot be purely out of generosity. “What do you want?” It was a simple inquiry.

            Her eyes, void of pupils, stare at Clover for a moment. As if sizing her up. “It is just how I say: I want to train you,” she states, coolly.

            “Purely out of the goodness of your heart?” The brunette remark.

            Valor laughs at her, “Quite the contrary. I embody a singular purpose. There is nothing spurring me to do this, except my very core motivations.”

            “Well… how would you teach me?” She hesitantly asks.

            “It can be done many ways, leading to various levels of an understanding. I can teach you through visual and verbal assistance. However, I can also impart knowledge to you in a more… abstract way. I can be as invasive or unobtrusive as you’d like.” She suddenly eyes her with what Clover assumes to be interest, “There are ways in which I could join your spirit with mine. This would impart upon you a vast comprehension of warfare and combat.”

            Clover felt her skin prickle. Not in repulsion, but in… exhilaration. The thought was… enticing.

Then she had a recollection of Anders. When he bound himself to a spirit of Justice, he became _crazed_. Chomping at the bit for any chance to strike back at the Templars or Chantry. So hellbent on freeing the mages, he lost sight of what was **right**. She didn’t want to become that. He turned a spirit of Justice into a spirit of Vengeance. His anger tainted the purity of the spirits original purpose. Clover didn’t want to do that to Valor.

            She felt the spirit staring at her face. When she looked up to Valor, the spirit’s expression shows that she must know what Clover was thinking. To what degree, she was uncertain, but Valor could probably sense her hesitancy. “If I am bound to you, I would not become twisted,” her smile is radiant, and it brings the brunette comfort to hear her confidence. “You and I are of a compatible mindset. In another time, another place, we would have been shield-sisters. Because of this, I would remain Valor, but not. You would remain Clover, but not. _We would be new_.”

            The thought of this seems to excite Valor even more than usual, her muscles ripple beneath her ‘skin’. Clover chews on her lip, thinking about this seriously. “I may be alright with that. What weapon did you use in your past life?” She asks in interest.

            Valor lets out a roar of laughter, “Why! All of them, of course!”

            Her eyes widen at this, “Surely not all?”

            Her head teeters back and forth in thought, “I was no magic user, however, all weapons that did not require a mage’s touch, I was far better than proficient with.”

            “You’re saying I can just pick any weapon up and be crazy good with it? Like, if we did this now, I could wake up and bust into a fight and win?” She asks, disbelieving.

            “No. You will still need to practice in the physical realm. You will also need to choose one weapon to begin with. Learning several at once is an admirable pursuit, but not an efficient one. With our joining, you will begin to assume capabilities. However, you will need to train your body to become comfortable with them.” She pats one of Clover’s arms, “You are already in relatively acceptable physical fitness. You will need to train harder, still, if you wish to be anywhere near prepared to accept me fully.”

            The survivalist’s head tilts in confusion, “Am I not already?”

            “You are, but you will not be able to use the wisdom I wish to impart with you at full capacity. You will need to train, as I have already explained.”

            “So, I’ll have to wait to join with you, or can we do it now?” She queries, still confused.

            A slow smile spreads across her face, “Does this mean you will?”

            She’d heard that even talking to a spirit will get you killed by a templar. Especially if you’re a mage. However, she is not a mage—as far as she could tell. How she’d managed to lucid dream a discussion with one confuses her. How she’s supposed to join with one confuses her. This all confused her.

            What _didn’t_ confuse her was knowledge; power. The power and knowledge to protect herself, as well as others. _That_ she can understand. Clover didn’t fear this spirit of Valor. She trusted her, even. She seemed righteous in her way. She felt that Valor could give her a purpose beyond barely scraping by. Surviving in this world that shouldn’t exist. Perhaps accepting the spirit’s offer could even help her find a way back home. The brunette saw few consequences of accepting her proposition. She would not become what Anders had. She would not twist the pure intentions of this spirit. She will willingly accept her like a friend. She will not be Clover anymore, and she is fine with that, honestly. Clover never really cared for herself much. Perhaps this spirit could fill the void within herself that she’d always had.

            Again, as if sensing her decision, Valor raises her hands to me. The scenery blurred until it became an endless black void. There was no visible platform to stand on, yet her feet remained flat and grounded. She lifted her hands, as well, grasping the warm and strong ones of Valor.

            “I am honored you have accepted me. I bind myself willingly to you and offer any power I may have to you,” her words echoed within the hallow void we stood in, making goosebumps rise upon my flesh. The words rang out and vibrated within my soul.

            As if already knowing what to say, Clover felt her mouth open to respond, “I accept you with honor. I bind myself willingly to you and accept any power you may have to offer.”

            The warrior spirit begins to glow so brightly she must shut her eyes for fear of going blind. The woman’s body begins to heat up, becoming so hot she feels like she is on fire. Her mind begins to race with words of a language she does not know; memories and knowledge that are not hers, but now are. It feels almost the same as when she’d been sent to Thedas. Everything within her consciousness ramps up to a climax, until it snaps like a cord. The bottom falls out of her mind, before quickly put to rights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait. Trying to get back into this now that I have some time and inspiration!


End file.
